Wanted: A Star Wars Bounty Hunter Story
by obadelia
Summary: A female bounty hunter storyline exploring scenes beyond and between the original story's chapters. In this telling, the bounty hunter (A) marries Baron Raffid Girard, (B) rejects Mandalorian clan membership, (C) carbonite preserves Jicoln Cadera, (D) and doesn't interfere with Mako dating Torian. Special thanks to @Nekobaghira. Glossary below for non-Basic terms (italicized).
1. Prologue I

**Prologue  
The Way She Left Things**

 **I.**

"You covered your tracks well."

The older Twi'lek's face was hidden by a wide-brimmed hat and a lower face mask. Her voice was deep, feminine and — unlike her figure — betrayed her age.

Calm and emotionless, she pulled back her long trench coat to reveal a reinforced blast vest crisscrossed with a fully stocked ammo belt. Her right hand moved to the sleek WL-29 fixed in its holster. The display was for show; nothing more than an intent to establish dominance in the room.

A few minutes earlier the aging bounty hunter and her _Weequay_ gun woman gained access to the Haven's Blaze casino's executive living quarters by distracting the ground floor lift guards with a combination of flirtation, diversionary tactics and good old-fashioned tranquillizers before slicing the elevator and taking it up to the 130th floor.

The seasoned hunter had then applied a small explosive charge to breach the door to suite 133. Within, the two gun-wielding women found their target: a young Twi'lek female.

Entering, they found their bounty calmly waiting for them. She sat cross-legged and unsurprised on an ornate lounger in a flimsy dressing gown. Her hand rested on the shaky knee of a half-dressed _Bothan_ male. The same _Bothan_ the old hunter had questioned before arriving. The same _Bothan_ who'd claimed not to know of the young woman's whereabouts.

He'd been unaware of the tracking device planted on him. Poor lovestruck fool.

The bounty hunters quickly swept the apartment for any hidden dangers while the seated couple looked on, offering no resistance. The only notable fixture in the apartment was a startled protocol droid.

As the intrusive duo finished scanning the suite the young Twi'lek stood and fluidly walked to the small bar table by the panoramic window. The shimmersilk dressing gown made her movements appear graceful.

"No tricks," the older woman demanded, moving warily towards her target.

Unconcerned, the robed Twi'lek picked up a crystalline carafe from the bar and slowly shook it from side to side. The rich brown liquid within churned hypnotically.

Now, moments after the incursion, hunter and quarry stood with eyes deadlocked. The whiskey was still swirling.

When the older Twi'lek spoke her voice simmered with indignation.

"It took us two months to figure out you'd faked your death, Nini. Then another six to retrace—"

"Nini? What?" The partly dressed _Bothan_ leapt from his seat to interrupt, pointing an accusatory finger at the woman who'd shared a bed with him before the breach of privacy. "You told me your name was Supisy!"

The startled man temporarily forgot the _Weequay_ woman's weapon in his side. She growled at the hirsute man's overly expressive antics. He hadn't been invited to speak.

"Shut the mongrel up, Trogg," the aging mercenary directed.

The _Weequay_ woman pressed her gun barrel against the _Bothan_ 's temple, leading him to an armchair further away.

"Mongrel? I mean ... come on. That's just rude," he said flippantly. "She really did tell me her name was Supisy. Now, who are you people?"

Trogg shoved the man down into the seat and flanked him, tapping the blaster barrel to his cheek, reminding him who the boss was in the situation.

"Really, Nini. A _Bothan_?" The elder woman's tone exuded disgust. She scoffed. "Such hairy messes. You were raised better."

"Clearly, she wasn't," the man said.

Unprompted, Trogg slugged the shirtless, barefoot man between the legs. He instantly doubled over and mewled in pain.

The young Twi'lek ignored the assault on her lover and picked up a round-bottomed glass to pour herself a drink. The glassware contact tinkled like tiny falling jewels.

The lag in conversation afforded the older Twi'lek opportunity to stir the room's emotional tension.

"Your Kowakian monkey-lizard of a boyfriend led us straight to you. Just like his wife said he would." The old hunter curled her lip in disgust. "Do you really crawl into bed with that furball?"

The abused man crawling back up into the armchair opened his mouth to defend himself, but Trogg's sharp tongue-click snapped him back into reality. He coiled himself into a sitting fetal position, groaning and cradling his groin.

Thirst quenched, the young Twi'lek exhaled in refreshment and set her glass down on the countertop. She leaned against the bar, gripping its edge with both hands.

"What's the payout?" she asked. "I'll double it."

"There is no payout," the older woman replied.

"Then why are you here?"

"To reclaim you."

In a swift, balletic movement the young Twi'lek tossed her _lekku_ around her neck like a scarf.

"I'm no one's property."

In this moment, the _Bothan_ realized just how little he knew about the object of his on-again-off-again affections.

"Oh, don't be dramatic." The older Twi'lek rolled her eyes. "You know we have unfinished business, _eswo_."

The young woman thoughtfully stroked her _lekku_ , composing herself.

"Let Norr go. He has nothing to do with this."

"Too messy. I let him go and the bantha-brained buffoon'll call in his goons to defend you," the experienced Twi'lek anticipated. "Men like him are barely even good for their _tal'kan_."

"What did she say about me?" Norr asked. The three women ignored him.

"I have a new life now. Without your orders," the young woman said. Her older rival let out a deep crescendoing chuckle that filled the room.

Norr watched wide-eyed at the evolving spectacle.

 _What in chaos is going on?_ he wondered.

"You can't make a life with a talking mop," the older woman remarked, nodding her head towards the pouting man.

"Hey!" Norr interjected. Trogg's hand was already around his neck.

"This boy isn't—"

"I'm not a 'boy', lady. I'm a man," Norr interjected.

"You're not a man until you can take Trogg here in a barefist fight," the older woman said derisively, gesturing to her sturdy companion."Care to prove yourself?"

Norr took a moment to visually assess the _Weequay_ from head to toe.

"I'll settle for being the only 'boy' on Nar Shaddaa with his own swanky cantina and private landing pad, thank you very much," he said.

The young Twi'lek gestured for her lover to quiet down before redirecting the conversation to negotiating her freedom with the hardened bounty hunter.

"And if I refuse to go with you?"

"I shoot your soulmate in the spine so he lacks the motivation to mount you," the older woman said frankly. "Also, you'll never know the reason your father sent me to find you after all these years."

"I'll just call him myself." The young woman walked briskly towards a wall-mounted holo-terminal, robe billowing behind her.

"How can you ignore the fact she just threatened to maim me?" Norr hollered in his lover's direction, dramatically waving his hands.

"Funny," the usually reticent Trogg chuckled in before giving the _Bothan_ a merciful pistolwhip across the face. "Your wife didn't seem to mind the prospect either."

"Your father won't take your calls," said the older Twi'lek to her robed rival. "Not after all the years of silence and months of mourning, believing—"

"Stop!" the young woman shouted.

"—believing you were dead." The older woman raised her voice to be heard. "You handled his poorly, Nini. Very poorly."

The room's mood shifted, becoming less tense and more sombre.

"He mourned you. Recklessly," the older woman continued in an embittered tone. "Even after he discovered you were alive. I don't know which broke his heart more believing you were dead or knowing his favourite child abandoned him."

"Don't."

"I'll sweeten the deal. You come peacefully, see your father and I'll guarantee he lets you go afterwards," the bounty hunter offered. "You'll be free to pursue whatever life you want with his blessing — even if it involves conceiving mutant children with this inadequate, miniature wookie ... through ... Sith alchemy ... or whatever."

The old woman removed her from her blaster belt to wave dismissively at Norr who was almost fully recovered from the blow to his reproductive assets, but nursing the bruise to his face. He intently watched the exchange between the two women. It was better than any holodrama he'd ever seen. The longer it went on the more intriguing it became and the more questions he had.

The _Bothan_ took the opportunity to muster the courage to interject.

"Who are you?" he asked his lover.

As an entrepreneur, Norr thrived on the myriad of challenges running a hotel cantina offered. His keen, culturally-instilled business acumen meant that, more often than not, he was on the winning end of his ventures. "Supisy's" disposition indulged this emotional need for competitive cat-and-mouse play. It was now clear her mysterious lure had been more than just a tactic to gain his romantic attention.

The _Bothan_ had the security of having a stable, forgiving, and loving mate waiting for him at home. She'd given him a beautiful son, and his parents adored his new family. But he couldn't help but be drawn to the young Twi'lek over and over again. She baffled and infuriated him, testing his sense of self in a way no other woman had.

Were he a more resolute man he would have rejected the traditional mateship his parents arranged and settled into a life with his fiery Twi'lek.

Sometimes what a man really needed was the exact opposite of what he thought was best for him.

"Let me get dressed," said the young Twi'lek. "You release Norr, we leave the casino and you get your bounty."

"Deal. But the Both comes with us on the way out. I don't take chances," the older woman responded. "Trogg, stay here with the walking carpet while I keep an eye on this one."

The two Twi'leks made their way to the large dressing screen that separated the bedroom from the living space.

As Norr's lover passed him she reached out to caress his face with cupped hands before disappearing behind the screen with her captor.

Earlier that day when the older Twi'lek showed up at his cantina to inquire about his lover Norr never imagined the situation would end up with him being beaten and held at gunpoint by two thugs.

 _Who is this woman?_ he asked himself.

* * *

 **Glossary**

Bothan: a sentient humanoid species of pointy-eared furry mammalians native to planet Bothawui.

eswo (Ryl): beloved or favoured one.

lekku: the two long cranial tentacles (singular "lek") protruding from the sides of a Twi'lek's skull.

tal'kan (Ryl): "penis."

Twi'lek: a sentient species of humanoids with twin cranial tentacles called lekku (singular "lek") native to planet Ryloth.

Weequay: a sentient humanoid species with leathery tan to dark brown skin native to planet Sriluur.


	2. Prologue II

**Prologue  
The Way She Left Things**

 **II.**

The two mercenaries stood between the Bothan and their captured bounty.

They allowed Norr to get fully dressed in the elevator while securing the young _Twi'lek_ with hand shackles. Apparently, they didn't perceive him to be any sort of real threat. He wasn't sure whether to take that personally or not.

It wasn't until the descending conveyor hit the 62nd floor that Norr broke the uncomfortable silence.

"So, I'm guessing you're not really a war orphan from Ord Mantell," Norr said, his fur bristling with emotional agitation. He turned his head to look at his lover.

The older _Twi'lek_ stifled her laughter.

"No," replied the younger _Twi'lek_.

"And your name's definitely not Supisy," he half asked and half stated.

"No."

"If you'd taken an interest in your mistress's culture and not just her _diheo_ you'd realize the irony in the name she fed you," piped the older woman.

"Enough," the young _Twi'lek_ hissed.

"Supisy. Means 'mysterious woman' in _Ryl_ ," added Trogg in a low whisper.

The elevator display changed from 57, to 56, then 55, 54, 53, 52 …

On floor 39, Norr broke the silence once more.

"Did you ever really love me?"

The young _Twi'lek_ looked over at him with a sympathetic frown.

"You know." She choked on the barely audible words.

Almost six years ago the very young "Supisy" had answered a call for staff and entertainers at The _Ootmian's_ Rest, Norr's hotel cantina in Nar Shaddaa's Corellian Sector. He'd refused her placement on his security team, reluctantly offering her a wait staff job instead. Girls like her were more suited as dancers.

The bashful young woman claimed to be a refugee and talked little of her life before arriving on the Smuggler's Moon. Understandable for an orphan traumatized by civil war. She couldn't've been more than sixteen.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" The _Ootmian's_ owner had asked.

"Supisyolan," she said with a typical _Twi'lek_ alliteration. "Not sweetheart."

"Show me your ID card and one of the other girls will get you settled," he'd instructed.

Supisy Olan. Ord Mantell. The birth date, citizenship record and other credentials contained within the data card had been checked and verified.

Unlike other establishments, Norr tried to keep his place as lawful as possible. Less of a headache that way. The _Ootmian_ had a no guns policy and employment required a legit ID. He didn't care if they had criminal records, but he liked to know who he was working with.

The Bothan predicted the girl would be gone within two months. Girls like her were directionless, undisciplined.

Two years into her tenure she was one of the wealthy Bothan's most reliable employees. She was level-headed, pragmatic, and worked well under pressure with military precision.

Norr was pleasantly surprised.

The _Twi'lek_ wasn't easily intimidated; she was strangely analytical and outspoken for someone of her age. When her maturity caused Norr to forget how young she was her off-duty shyness was a gentle reminder.

His only problem with her performance involved the occasional refusal to take orders from superiors. In such cases, Supisy always had a solid reason for her non-compliance ... which Norr hated to admit usually had merit.

He couldn't figure her out. And the curiosity intrigued him.

Three years into her employ, an on-shift incident with Supisy and a _Besalisk_ roast cook that left the man's wrist broken nearly forced Norr to fire her. She'd been immensely unapologetic about the assault and its implications.

"I can easily replace serving staff mid-shift," he'd bellowed at the young woman behind his office's closed door. "He has four _pfassking_ arms, woman! I can't replace a quick and skilled chef like that without months of searching."

"He deserved it."

"I should _crinking_ fire you right now," Norr had threatened at the top of his lungs. He'd had it up to his elongated ears with her subordination.

"It's always the woman's fault, right?" Supisy'd shot back. "That _chi'kan_ groped his last waitress."

"Watch your tone. I'm the boss here."

"Yeah, big man you are," she'd scorned him. "Maybe if you didn't constantly have your face planted between some _piffer's_ legs you'd actually see what goes on around here."

Norr didn't hide his lecherous ways in the workplace, but he didn't appreciate having it thrown in his face by a teenager.

"You're fired. Get out."

"Fine!" Supisy stormed out of the office.

The _Twi'lek_ was right. Norr had previously received complaints about the cook and had done nothing. If he'd begun looking for a replacement by the time he'd gotten the third harassment allegation the cantina would've already had another cook. Sheer laziness. The pressure coming from his parents back home on Bothawui had been wearing him thin, but it was no excuse. He wasn't protecting his staff and, therefore, his business interests.

A deflated Norr found the _Twi'lek_ in the staff quarters clearing out her bunk.

"Listen ... you're right," he'd said. "Stay. I'll fix it."

"Uh ... um ... what?"

"Get back on the floor before I change my mind."

Befuddled, she'd asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm just dealing with some personal ... issues right now," he'd sighed. "Shouldn't've let it affect operations here."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Just don't break any more appendages. Come to me next time — privately — and tell me about any 'interpersonal' issues. No more public drama. And don't ever talk to me like that again."

(For the record, she's frequently talked to him like "that" in subsequent months. Each time, admittedly, he'd deserved it.)

Supisy'd nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry. Didn't meant to add to your stress. Just had it with that guy."

The confrontation had been a game changer. While his hiring manager looked for another roast cook, Norr filled in, splitting his time between the office and the kitchen. The tension between he and Supisy had lessened and he'd sensed she was beginning to see him as less of a _sleemo_.

During one of the shifts they'd worked together she'd leaned up against his station, balancing two prepared plates on her way to ferry them out to the cantina floor.

"Table Nine sends its compliments to the chef. Says your _Kommerken_ steak is sublime," she'd said softly with a sheepish smile.

"Thanks," he'd laughed.

"Not doing too badly, boss. Wouldn't've even noticed you don't have four hands." She'd ended the compliment with a deadpan rejoinder. "You'll make someone a fine, domesticated wife some day."

Before Norr could respond she was through the double-hinged doors.

Minutes later, their eyes met when Supisy returned to collect another completed order.

"It's nice not being fondled by some creep on shift," she'd nonchalantly commented.

"Shift's not over yet. Better watch out." He'd flexed his hands as a cheeky reply.

Norr half expected the plucky _Twi'lek_ to lunge over the cooking stations and shatter his shins. Instead, she'd flipped her _lekku_ behind her and sashayed out of the kitchen with a brief backwards glance.

He'd known enough _Twi'lek_ women to read their subtle signs of flirtation.

* * *

 **Glossary**

Besalisk: a species of beige or green-coloured sentient humanoids with cranial crests native to planet Ojom; males had four arms, females had up to eight.

chi'kan (Ryl): pervert.

crink (-ed, -er, -ing): slang, an extremely vulgar expletive, diversely used literally and non-literally to describe sexual acts or to express frustration or ambivalence.

diheo (Ryl): vagina.

Kommerken steak: a portion of meat steak often served with a type of vegetable called ootwergs.

lekku: the two long cranial tentacles (singular "lek") protruding from the sides of a Twi'lek's skull.

Ootmian (Huttese): foreigner, offworlder, outlander.

pfassk (-ed, -er, -ing): slang, an adaptable expletive.

piffer: slang, an attractive woman.

Ryl: the native spoken language of the Twi'leks.

sleemo (Huttese): slimeball; a moderately rude insult.

Twi'lek: a sentient species of humanoids with twin cranial tentacles called lekku (singular "lek") native to planet Ryloth.

xantha: an elongate stringed instrument played by plucking strings and covering its holes with one's fingers.


	3. Prologue III

**Prologue  
The Way She Left Things**

 **III.**

Approaching the 10th floor, the calming hum of the moving lift that seemed to subdue its occupants was punctuated by another of the Bothan's lovesick inquiries.

"Who are you?" Norr asked once again, desperately hoping for a reply that would allow him to understand what was happening.

"You really tickled this boy's _tal'kan_ ," the older Twi'lek snickered, keeping her eyes fixed on the door. "Would seem he didn't know a woman before you."

"Leaves his mate and youngling at home to frolic with her," Trogg added.

"Will you two sows shut up?" the young Twi'lek seethed.

"Rude," said Trogg.

Silence fell over the group again without any resolution to the Bothan's question.

The elevator's alert noise caused Norr some internal panic. Sensing his apprehension, Trogg looked over at him, made sure their eyes met and patted her GR-14 XT Plasma Core blaster.

"Let this play out like it's supposed to," she quietly instructed.

When the group exited the elevator the captives were herded out first. The bounty hunters pressed closely behind them.

Trogg noticed the guards they'd tranqed to gain access to the lift were now missing from behind the vending machines where they'd been stowed.

"We've been made," the _Weequay_ stated.

As if on cue an announcement sounded throughout the entire casino.

"Attention valued Haven's Blaze customers and staff," the feminine voice calmly stated. "The casino is now on high security alert. During this time you will notice an increased security presence. Please continue to enjoy our amenities and be assured that your safety and well-being are of utmost importance to us."

By the time the communication ended they group was surrounded by an armed security detail. They were all Cathar.

"There's no need for weapons if everyone keeps their heads cool," said the older Twi'lek to Trogg, Norr and her bounty. She nudged the Bothan and shot him a stern glare. "That's more for you than anyone else, shaggy."

Nearby casino patrons began gawking, whispering and drawing a crowd. It wasn't long before their end of the main concourse had become a full-blown spectacle.

"My weapon's holstered. I've got a bounty slip and my bounty," the older Twi'lek declared to the cluster of guards. "Send someone over to search and verify."

"Drop your weapons, now," commanded the foremost guard. His gun was aimed squarely at her now. "Nice and slow. Any sudden moves will be your last."

The two mercenaries complied.

"What about the male?" asked the guard.

"He's only armed with his wit ... and barely has any of that," said the older Twi'lek.

"Is that you, Mister Jastra'rey? Miss Olan?" The guard recognized two of the casino's high rollers; they were both friends of the owner. Otheros and Norr had known each other for years and were frequent visitors to one another's establishments.

Norr and his mistress both nodded.

"Fine mess you've found yourselves in," the guard commented.

"They are who they say they are," Norr responded, nodding his head towards his lover. "Hunters collecting their bounty here."

"Smartest thing you've done all day," the older Twi'lek muttered to Norr under her breath.

The senior guard gestured for his colleague to search the mercenaries. As the appointed man stepped forward, the older Twi'lek dissented.

"No. Send a female. Not keen on being pawed by one of you."

"Real classy. Nine guns drawn on you and you're calling the shots?" the senior officer chortled incredulously. "Tamne, check the cocky one first."

One of the Cathar women separated from the formation. Approaching, she kicked the discarded guns towards her security detail then began carefully patting down the older Twi'lek from behind with one hand while the other had a gun pointed at Trogg's head.

"Datapad's attached to my belt in the rear," the bounty hunter informed Tamne.

Detaching it, the Cathar secured it to her own belt, frisked Trogg, Norr and "Supisy", then cautiously backed away from the group of suspected charlatans. She presented the datapad to her senior officer, who consulted its files.

"Says here you have a bounty for Supisy Olan of Ord Mantell," he looked back and forth between the pad and the younger woman, performing a visual check.

The older Twi'lek nodded.

"Payout and client information's redacted," the man commented with a hint of suspicion in his voice. "Doesn't state the nature of the bounty slip issuance."

"Confidential," Trogg explained.

"Seems legit, but this involves Haven's Blaze staff. I'll have to call Otheros. Casino policy," he stated.

"I don't see what the problem is here," the older Twi'lek griped. "It's a valid _BBA_ document. No one's resisting. Let us leave."

Getting Otheros involved would just prolong the inevitable. Nothing he — or anyone — could offer would square things up.

The senior security officer produced his holocomm and started to scroll through its contact list.

"Rouglas? It's Rouglas Kenth, isn't it?" the young Twi'lek asked. The guard, looked up at her and nodded. "We played sabacc at the casino's Life Day party last year. You mentioned you have a wife and six cubs back on your homeworld; you're saving up and relocate them to Coruscant."

"Yes, Miss Olan," the man nodded.

"You're into _glitz_ music, play the _xantha_." She maintained eye contact with the Cathar; he smiled shyly, surprised she'd remembered the details of their only interaction.

"Yes, Miss Olan."

"You're a good man, Mister Kenth. Principled. Hard-working. Family values," the young woman continued. "Makes it hard not to want to do something about a situation like this. But you can't. It's inevitable. Been coming for a while. Otheros can't change it. No one can. Copy the bounty slip and let us go, sir, please. I'll be fine."

There was a long pause while the Cathar considered her words. He looked at his armed colleagues, at Mister Jasra'rey, at Miss Olan, at the bounty hunters, at the gathering crowd, then back again.

. . . . . . . . . .

The security guards began dispersing the crowd and reassuring the spectators that they weren't in any danger.

The mercenaries, their captive and Norr made their way towards the platform with the casino's hover taxi queue. Patrons were still ogling, pointing and whispering as the group passed by.

As they arrived at the taxi queue, the young Twi'lek stopped.

"Give us a minute," she said.

The older Twi'lek sighed and opened her mouth to object, then gave up. She waved her hand in a gesture of agreement instead and held up three fingers. Three minutes. The mercs stepped a few feet away from the lovers and restlessly waited.

Norr gingerly touched his lover's cuffed hands and they looked at each other with melancholic glances.

"Will you be okay?" Norr asked, looking over at the bounty hunters with concern.

"I'll always be okay," she reassured.

"What's your name?" he asked one last time.

His mistress mustered a half-smile. "I tell you and you'll look for me, you damn fool. Can't have that."

The Bothan sighed deeply.

"More questions than answers," he said.

The Twi'lek touched his chest softly with her restrained hands, then aggressively pulled his shirt and kissed him passionately until she heard Trogg cough spuriously — an indicator that their time was up.

She released Norr's lips and touched his cheek, caressing the velvety fur.

"Go home to your wife. Forget me," she instructed. "Wouldn't've worked out, anyhow."

The older Twi'lek returned to collect her bounty, directing the young woman away by placing her hand in the small of her back to guide her forward.

"How embarrassing," the younger woman whispered.

"Less shameful than sharing a bed with that tick-ridden womp rat," the older woman retorted.

Watching them walk away side-by-side Norr couldn't help but wonder if all _Tiatan_ females were like these two. Their gait, their figures were alike. In fact, they both shared a commanding demeanour.

A touch on the shoulder jolted the Bothan from his thoughts. It was Otheros, dashingly dressed in a formal white suit with gold filigree.

"You missed all the action," said the Bothan as he watched his lover jet away in a taxi. She was looking at him through the window.

"What in _chaos_ is going on, Norr?"

"I'll never trust another beautiful woman who doesn't cringe at the sound of blaster fire again," he muttered.

Long after the Haven's Blaze casino disappeared from view, the young woman continued to stare longingly out the taxi window.

The mercenaries were comfortably sprawled in the cab's generous passenger space.

"You have your father's gift of persuasion," the older Twi'lek said to the younger.

There was no response from the dejected young woman.

"When we leave Hutt Space everything about this 'Supisy Olan' persona dies. Everything. Am I clear?"

"I understand completely, mother."

* * *

 **Glossary**

chaos: hell.

glitz music: a progressive off-shoot genre of jizz music, the galactic equivalent to jazz.

Ootmian (Huttese): foreigner, offworlder, outlander.

Tiatan (Ryl): a minor race of pink-skinned Twi'leks descended from an aboveground clan of religious artisans; literally meaning "creative" or "artistic" person.

Weequay: a sentient humanoid species with leathery tan to dark brown skin native to planet Sriluur.

xantha: an elongate stringed instrument played by plucking strings and covering its holes with one's fingers.


	4. Part I: Leaving Hutta

**Part I: Leaving Hutta**

 _After all but one of her Great Hunt team is assassinated during phase one on Hutta, the Twi'lek mercenary navigates the shifting whims of Hutt politics to secure a competition token._

 _With her spot in the legendary contest secured, the blaster-wielding frontwoman and her teammate Mako board a shuttle for Vaiken Spacedock. Once there, the duo will meet with a contact known as Kelborn before gearing up and getting down to business._

. . . . . . . . . .

A motley assortment of characters populated the seats on the shuttle heading offworld to the fleet.

Sitting at the back of the passenger cabin alongside her new crewmate, the hunter half-listened to the over-excited slicer ramble non-stop after lift-off. All was quiet save for the diminutive Human's voice.

"... it's gonna be you and me, girl ..."

Mako's voice waxed and waned as the hunter tried to focus in on reviewing their itinerary.

Once landed they'd have to locate their assigned Great Hunt combat advisor. The listed name was Kelborn, the location was 'Main level, Hutta departures lift'. Kelborn would provide a rundown of training and gear kit options.

Aside from that, Nem'ro's sponsorship came with a meagre amount of credits. Cheap, greedy slug.

"... I think we might really have a chance at this thing ..."

The hunter had already worked out a basic budget that stretched out the funds for the next two weeks. They'd have to be thrifty and live on unbranded field rations, reserving a majority of the funds for gear and supplies.

She hadn't counted on a partner, but a hunter rolled with the punches.

It was better to be moderately hungry and armored than well-fed with no pulse.

If the Imperial males on the fleet and Dromund Kaas were as lonely and desperate as the ones she'd met during her teenage years on Nar Shaddaa, the hunter would be able to conserve some meal credits courtesy of the Empire.

"... hitting the hyperlanes ... hunting down targets ..." Mako's broad grin slowly morphed into a melancholy frown. "I just wish Braden and Jory were along for the ride."

Some of the more disgracious-looking passengers were staring.

The hunter reached over and rubbed her new partner's shoulders with a friendly, reassuring massage; Mako's upper body tension slowly diminished.

The hunter felt for the girl. She'd lost so much in a short amount of time.

Mako exhaled. "So, what do I call you?"

"Huh?"

"Your name, girl. I just realized we went through all that mess on Hutta and I don't even know your name. Braden kept it a secret ... like you were a celebrity or something."

"Don't really got one," the hunter shrugged. A youth spent as a runaway meant she'd used many aliases. Supisy Olan had only been one; Jiljoo Me, Koyi Sivron ... and there were more. "Call me _Talik_."

"Talik. Easy to remember," Mako smiled.

"Now that that's been settled let's get the hard part out of the way," the renamed hunter said in a hushed tone. "You just lost the closest people to you, but if this is going to work you have to put that aside on every single job."

Mako hung her head and sighed.

"In the field, you live in the present," the hunter continued. "The bounty is your one and only focus. Being distracted gets people killed. Fall apart in your room at the end of the day."

"I'll try."

"Don't try. Do," the Twi'lek advised. "I'm not your old boss. We're in a symbiotic relationship now. My performance affects yours in real time and vice versa."

Mako nodded.

"Enough of the heavy stuff for now. We've got a short time to get to know one another real quick. Rapid fire questions. What do you want to know? Go."

"Uh ... where'd you grow up?" Mako stuttered.

"Calamar. And a few other places."

"Calamar? You don't strike me as a high society snob," Mako teased.

"I know," the Twi'lek grinned mischievously.

"That response requires further explanation, but for now ... any family?"

"Three brothers; triplets, older. Much older. Mother on Esseles. Father's passed."

"My condolences."

The hunter nodded.

"How'd you get into this business?"

"Born into it."

"Also, interesting," Mako noted. "Favourite colour?"

"Blue," the hunter smiled. "Always blue. Blue skies ... blue ocean ... "

"I can see that memory's taking you somewhere. Maybe a vacation spot with an old boyfriend or girlfriend?"

"Boyfriends are for school girls and married women seeking recreational romance. I'm neither."

"C'mon. Don't tell me you're not a romantic," Mako nudged her travelling companion. "Marriage? Children?"

The Twi'lek furrowed her brow.

"The Emperor'll announce his retirement the day I hang up my blasters to breastfeed some mule-faced man's offspring."

Mako nearly doubled over with laughter.

"Okay ... well, remind me not to ask you to babysit," she kidded. "All right, all right. How about ... your dream job?"

"This. What we're doing right here." The hunter's eyes gleamed unusually bright. "Ain't nothin' like the buzz of charged blasters waiting to discharge, and a big fat bounty slip in my pocket. Makes a girl feel better than _Life Day_."

"I'm learning so much about you right now; it's unreal," Mako beamed with glee.

The hunter was pleased her companion's spirits had lifted. "Now, it's my turn to learn something about you. Same questions. Where'd you grow up?" she asked.

"The skeeziest slum on Nar Shaddaa. Hope we never ever end up going there."

"Nar Shaddaa, eh? I spent some time there. I mean, who hasn't?" the Twi'lek remarked. "A planet full of everything you never needed, but suddenly wish you had all at once. And none of it good for you."

"Sounds about right," Mako groaned.

"Family still there?"

"No. Grew up in an orphanage. Was on my own until Braden. He was the closest thing to family I ever had."

"Well, now you've got me." The hunter affectionately nudged her companion. Mako's reluctant smile gradually became more assured. "And it sounds like we've got a spunky little survivor on our hands. So, Braden got you into the business?"

"Yeah. Everything changed when I met him." The young woman's voice took on a light, somewhat dreamy quality. The hunter made note of it.

"Sounds familiar. But meeting Braden was probably a less drastic life change for me."

"Yeah, I bet." Mako brushed her hair away from the sides of her face.

"Favourite colour?"

"You're gonna love this: pink."

"Now, this is providential," the hunter grinned. "'Cause — as you may have noticed — I'm a whole lotta pink."

"That you are, girl," Mako laughed. "That you are."

"Any significant other?"

"Not even one boyfriend. Braden was very ... protective. It was endearing at times, but got really tiring — especially since I'm almost twenty."

"Sounds like you and Braden were ... close."

"No, nothing like that, you rascal. He was like a father to me."

"'Like' a father' ain't exactly a father. The term 'daddy issues' exists for a reason, kiddo." The irreverent Twi'lek winked and poked her companion in the ribs.

"No. Just no." Mako chuckled. "Gross." She made a retching noise and pretended to shudder.

The bounty hunter shrugged.

"I'd've hit it. More than once."

Their banter quickly degenerated into sophomoric giggling and pushing.

"Okay, okay," the hunter breathed in deeply. "Compose yourself, woman. Now ... do you see yourself getting hitched to some useless sandbag anytime soon?"

Mako shook her head at the hunter's cynicism.

"Yeah, I would like to get married one day. Might as well settle down. Not like I'm sowing any wild _molo seeds_ now."

"Who knows! Us independent gals 'hittin' the hyperlanes,' freedom at our backs. May just spark a little somethin' in ya," the hunter playfully jabbed.

"We'll see," Mako blushed.

"And what about your dream job?"

"Never thought about what I'd be doing if Braden hadn't found me. Would've liked to run my own tech security company."

"Ambitious. I like it," the hunter remarked. "Now, report back to me. Everything I told you about myself."

"What! I thought this was a friendly chat."

"There's no such thing as a 'friendly chat.' Being a successful hunter is all about the details," the Twi'lek responded. She gently tapped Mako's cybernetic augment. "Being wired is a definite leg up but don't let it be your crutch. Now, who did I just tell you I was?"

The hunter could tell her eager little partner was running back over their conversation in her head, trying her best to recall the personal information tidbits.

"You're from Calamar. Born into your dream job ... three brothers, a mother; father's passed. Um ... don't have a boyfriend and don't see yourself married. That's everything, right?"

"Blue. You forgot blue."

"Oh, yeah. Your favourite colour." Mako smacked her forehead.

"Did you believe everything I told you?"

"Huh?"

"Was I believable? Did you get the feeling I was lying to you at any point?"

"Not really. I mean ... being from Calamar is a bit of a stretch, I think. And I don't believe you had a thing for Braden — I sure hope not. Aside from that, I didn't doubt anything you said."

"All right. Your instincts are pretty solid," the hunter remarked. "Your gun stance could use a little work, but we've got time and I've got the patience to train you."

"Will you say if I was right in not believing those things?"

"Nope." The hunter offered only a playful smirk.

"Well, what happens if I made a mistake ... or make a mistake?" Mako objected.

"If you make a mistake and live? It's a good day."

. . . . . . . . . .

The pilot's voice blared over the intercom, startling the Great Hunt hopefuls out of their sleep. They'd be landing at Vaiken Spacedock in twenty minutes.

Wiping the drool from the side of her mouth, the hunter quickly patted herself down to ensure all her belongings were accounted for. Neither she nor Mako had stowed any gear, opting to keep their packs strapped on instead. Pickpocketing was common on commuter shuttles.

"Check your gear," the hunter advised. "Might have sticky fingers around." She didn't care if any of her fellow travellers overheard. Chances were one or more of them was a petty thief.

Mako complied, checking each pocket and triple-checking her pack.

"It's all here."

The Twi'lek had only ever hunted solo or with her mother's small crew. Their method accommodated adapting strategies. This contingency plan with Mako would be an adjustment from the original plan, but the hunter was willing to take on the spunky little slicer. She wasn't, however, convinced Mako was ready for it. She'd give the girl one final opportunity to back out.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" the Twi'lek blurted. "You walk away right now, I'll understand. Can even give you a third of Nem'ro's stipend."

"No walking away. I'm in to the end. Nothing to lose."

The hunter was impressed. "I don't know what Braden taught you, but we're working from scratch now," she said. "If you remember one thing from this point on let it be this: the guns are a last resort. They're insurance."

"Go on," Mago urged. "I'm listening."

"A successful hunter first reads a situation, then trusts instinct in using or not using her weapon. Head, heart, hardware. All three work equally in concert to make that split second decision. If either one dominates the balance — one way or another — you're doomed.

"Head, heart, hardware," Mako repeated, closing her eyes to let the information sink in.

"On a good job you won't even have to unholster your weapon."

"Does that happen often?"

"It's rare, but it does," replied the hunter.

"What if I freeze and can't make a decision?" Mako asked.

"Best case scenario: you lose your bounty, some reputation and your credits. I don't have to tell you worst."

By the look on the Mako's face, the hunter could tell Braden hadn't been entirely forthcoming about the realities of the business.

"I can do this."

"Of course you can. Held your own pretty well on Hutta. Stick with me — listen, watch, keep asking questions — and you'll be ready to make your own calls in no time."

"Have you ever regretted a call you made on a bounty?"

"Once. Just before I met Braden," the hunter said.

"Can you tell me about it?"

Thinking about the case always caused the Twi'lek to lose sleep. She'd never talked about it. To anyone. But Mako needed a practical example of how losing focus could frag up a job.

"Got hired by a wealthy Coruscani family to recover their son. Teenaged runaway," the hunter started, trying her best not to become sentimental. "Should've seen their penthouse. Drive a Hutt to jealousy.

"I found the boy on _Zeltros_. Gave me a sob story about his controlling mother, the psychological abuse. Struck a nerve, you know."

"Was he telling the truth?"

"One hundred percent."

"And what happened?"

"I let him go. Suggested he ditch his identity card and get a fake, change his appearance; make the most of it. Told his parents he'd sold his ID to someone using it on Zeltros. Didn't get full pay."

"And you regret it?"

"Yeah. Two weeks later the kid was dead. Some shootout with law enforcement over spice dealing. I really thought he'd be safe on Zeltros, you know? If he'd been at home he'd've at least been alive. Miserable, but alive.

"I made it personal. It wasn't."

"I might've done the same," said Mako. The hunter knew her partner was trying to be empathetic.

"I let my heart upset the balance. It was the wrong call — for everyone."

"I see what you mean."

"It's important to learn from your mistakes," the hunter instructed. "Never lose sight of that. And never repeat them."

"Everything you're saying seems so common sense, but I never thought of it before. Never had to."

"One last thing." The hunter paused and looked at Mako, misleading her with a stern glance that dissolved into a mischievous smile. "No more pulling guns on Great Hunt officials. I'm a little nervous now with you and this Kelborn person we're supposed to meet," she teased.

"Hey, now! That business with Grataa was an honest mistake, girl," Mako laughed.

Mother's hunting basics were vibrating in the Twi'lek's frontal lobe, alert and willing to be verbalized, passed down to yet another protege.

"I'll teach you the ropes and you learn my way of hunting," the hunter said. "Your training starts the moment we step off this shuttle. You ready?"

"I'm ready."

* * *

 **Glossary**

Life Day: a two-week long observance during which revelers exchange gifts and erect festive decorations to celebrate health and prosperity.

molo seeds: seeds from the molo plant, native to Tatooine.

Talik (Ryl): destiny.

Zeltros: a luxury pleasure planet known for its opulence and hedonism.


	5. Part I: Head Games

**Part I: Head Games**

Fresh from outplaying her Cathar rival Murghir on wartorn Balmorra, the hunter learns her next target is on Nar Shaddaa, the "Smuggler's Moon", a place of emotional significance for both her and Mako.

In a private cantina suite, the duo meet with their contact: Hutt Underboss Gele'ren. Aided by his assistant Anuli, Mako's childhood friend, the mercenaries hatch a daring plan to flush out the Eidolon by sabotaging his business.

After destroying his munitions factory in the Corellian Sector, a place she once called home, the hunter ignores the professional code that's guided her for years.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Everything okay, girl?" Mako's soft, sympathetic voices snapped the _Twi'lek_ out of the fantasy of walking into Norr's office and falling back into old habits for an hour or two. He'd be game.

It was impossible not to think about it. She was three city blocks away from her old haunt. All the hunter had to do was hop on her speeder and head north to Sector C73. Within twenty minutes she'd be outside The _Ootmian's_ Rest.

"Yeah," the hunter muttered.

"You zoned out on me there." Mako reassuringly placed a hand on her partner's shoulder.

"Sorry. Might be a little outta shape," the hunter replied. "Ran like _chaos_ to avoid the blast."

"Are you kidding me? Outta shape?" Mako chuckled. "Even your eyelids are well-toned."

The hunter tried to laugh but choked on the smoke billowing from the rubble behind them. Moments ago, it had been the Eidolon Armaments building; now, it was a charred, collapsed mass of debris.

Not only did hitting the assassin-turned-entrepreneur where he made his biggest profits hurt, but it was a clear invitation to come out and play. The hunter predicted the Eidolon would seek his revenge hastily, recklessly. And when his efforts got sloppy, The Great Hunt contender would make him taste her blaster bolts.

"Time to get out of here," Mako said, giving her crewmate an empathetic pat on the back. "We've still got business to handle while we wait for the Eidolon's move."

But the hunter wasn't yet to leave. Not when she was so close to someone cherished who was taken away from her. She hadn't been on Nar Shaddaa in ten cycles. Who knew how many more it would be before she got a chance to return.

"You go on ahead. Grab us supplies from the promenade market," she instructed. "I'll stay here and make sure the staff who got out leave here safely."

"You sure?" Mako looked around at the befuddled staff of the formerly profitable business. Many of them were clinging to one another, staring in mournful disbelief at the spot that had once been their livelihood.

"You're right. Maybe you're not ready to do a supply run on your own," the hunter shrugged. "I'd better—"

"It's not ... no, no. That's ... not what I meant," Mako stuttered. "I can definitely do this. I just thought it might not be such a good idea to split up."

"Tracer missiles, _kolto_ injectors ..."

"And fuel refills! Noticed we were low after the firefight with Murghir," Mako added with an eager nod.

"So you did read _Hunter's Handbook_ personal log entries I leant you," the hunter smiled.

"Just started. Left off on _The Three Rules of Hunting: Part One_." Mako winked before reciting the three tenets. "The bounty comes first, know your prey, plan for the worst case."

Had Mako read the beyond the precursory entry she'd have realized the _Twi'lek_ was now exercising a more subtle hunting tactic on her — one that went beyond using hardware or agile reflexes. If used on the right subject at the right time with the right intensity, manipulation could prove more effective than physical force.

Plucking at of a person's eagerness, pride or vanity by suggesting their unfitness was a manoeuvre the _Twi'lek_ knew all too well. It was her mother's preferred motivational method. The resentment it bred never went away.

"Very good. I'm impressed ... but enough chit-chat." The hunter's expression of pride quickly faded. "Hit the promenade, restock, meet me at the Slippery Slopes in forty minutes."

Break a person down, build a person up. It was the same repetitive process she'd experienced at her mother's hand in her adolescence.

Goddess help me. I've become my mother, she thought while anxiously tossing Mako the speeder's security device.

"You got it." Mako took a few steps towards the clunky old Vectron they'd rented at the spaceport, then paused. "Wait a minute."

The hunter masked her guilt with her most convincing _sabacc_ face then turned to face her partner. "Yes?"

Mako narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"If I take the speeder how will you get back?" she asked.

"Taxi," the _Twi'lek_ replied.

"Okay!" Inflated by the trust placed in her, Mako walked the hundred yards to the incognito spot where they'd parked. As revved up the engine, the hunter walked up to a dazed Eidolon Armaments employee — the same scientist who'd begged for time to evacuate his people before the explosive charges were set off.

"Hey, you," the hunter called out. The man gazed over at her vacantly. "Where's a lady gotta go to find a decent infochant around here?"

"Infochant?" asked the flustered scientist.

"A data merchant. An info broker. Someone who discretely gathers and sells intel."

"Well, how would I know?" The scientist recoiled from the suggestion with an insulted sneer.

"You're in Hutt territory working for an arms dealing assassin, pal." The hunter crossed her arms and glanced at the man with a look that screamed _cut the phobium_.

"Why should I help you? You just burned my work down!" the man yelled, throwing his hands in the air.

The hunter cocked her head to the side and slowly pulled a half dozen credit chips from her inside duster pocket. Staring intently at the agitated scientist, one-by-one she calmly rolled the chips between her knuckles.

When the final chip made the circuit, the hunter flipped it up then snatched it out of the air. "Well, then. Seems you might need some credits to hold you over till your next job."

The scientist sighed in resignation and pointed towards the nearest alleyway. "Head down about a half block. Look for Fluuma's Lounge. Ask for Lun."

"Much obliged." The hunter winked and dropped payment into the man's outstretched hand.

"Why'd you do this?" he asked, gesturing to the wreckage of his former workplace as the hunter walked away.

"For the revolution," she bluffed without looking back.

"Revolution? What revolution?" The scientist's voice broke into in a high pitched squeal.

"Pick one," the hunter called over her shoulder.

. . . . . . . . . .

The back office of Fluuma's Lounge was a welcome contrast to the dank, depressing front of house which was less of a lounge and more of a flop house. Inside, Lun, an ornately dressed _Gossam_ woman, ushered the hunter into a surprisingly comfy chair.

Though the diminutive data agent's workspace was clearly a converted storage space, it was clinically tidy — a stark contrast to the world outside its door.

"Tell me no names until we agree upon terms," Lun instructed, gesturing for the hunter to sit. "To offer a quote I require the search subject's line of work and last known location."

The hunter pushed back the consistent, nagging voice inside saying, _The bounty comes first, eswo_. It sounded like her mother.

"Business owner," the conflicted _Twi'lek_ replied. "Nar Shaddaa."

"Ah." The ridge above Lun's left eye lifted. "Is an underground business?"

"Public."

"So this is a fairly visible person," Lun said to herself. She crossed her legs and leaned forward intently.

"Yes."

"Gathering what you need will be straightforward." Lun reached for the ewer on her desk and poured the hunter a generous glass of water. "What type of details are you seeking?"

"Thank you," the hunter replied as she reached forward to take the glass. "Anything and everything."

"Including private correspondence?" A hint of curiosity seeped into the infochant's inflexion.

"Yes."

"And how many _cycles_ should I go back?"

"Ten."

Lun stroked her chin and grunted thoughtfully as she leaned back in her chair. "A sweeping, long-range search. This is costly. How soon is the information needed?"

"Two hours. Three max. I'm on a deadline."

"Of course," said Lun. She thoughtfully interlocked her wrinkled, three-fingered hands and folded them on her desk. "My fee. The scope of what you're asking will cost two-hundred credits.

The hunter's heart sank. Spending that amount would doom her prospects for advancing in The Great Hunt. She and Mako would have to subsist on low-grade rations; equipment upkeep would be impossible.

The gun-wielding _Twi'lek_ sighed. "I can't swing that amount right now."

"Very well," said Lun. She gestured for the hunter's comm device and input her frequency. "Call me on a secure channel when circumstances change."

After bowing farewell, the _Twi'lek_ walked out to the cantina floor.

"Any chance you can call me a taxi?" she asked the lackadaisical _Rodian_ barkeep whom she assumed was the eponymous Fluuma.

The man pointed to a _Weequay_ at the opposite end of the bar. He was fixated on the dancing Quarren projection on his portable holoviewer.

"That guy?" The hunter's shoulders slouched as the too-indolent-to-speak bartender nodded. "Goddess. I hate _Weequays_ ," she mumbled under her breath.

The hunter paused to compose herself for what she predicted would be a nerve-racking exchange. For her, _Weequays_ were less congenial than _Sacorrian grain flies_.

The _Twi'lek_ mercenary nodded at appreciatively at Fluuma, then approached the leathery-skinned driver.

"Bartender says you're this joint's official taxi service," she said, leaning against the bar.

"Where to?" The _Weequay_ refused to pry his eyes away from the flickering image of the gyrating showgirl on his handheld device.

"Lower promenade."

"I charge thirty-two credits."

"Sure. Where's your pleasure barge parked?" The hunter's akimbo stance emphasized her sardonic tone. "I assume you offer champagne service. I prefer _Daruvvian_ vintages."

The thin-lipped _Weequay_ momentarily looked away from his holographic entertainment to raise a displeased eyebrow.

"I drive a Tirsa Bogwing," the overconfident chauffeur grunted.

"Then you get 14 credits; five more than I'd pay a droid taxi for the same ride."

The _Weequay_ stood, letting out a distasteful grunt as he grudgingly switched off his holoviewer and stowed it in his vest. "I'm parked out front."

* * *

 **Glossary**

chaos: hell.

cut the phobium: slang, stop lying.

cycle: year.

Darruvian: of or relating to the planet Darruvia, its people, culture and/or history.

eswo (Ryl): beloved or favoured one.

Gossam: a species of sentient, short-statured reptoids with blue skin native to Castell.

kolto: a natural liquid known for its healing abilities found on planet Manaan.

ootmian (Huttese): foreigner, offworlder, outlander.

Rodian: a species of sentient reptoids with spiny cranial ridges, slender snouts, pointed ears and antennae native to planet Rodia.

sabacc: a complex, unpredictable high stakes card game played throughout the galaxy.

Sacorrian grain fly: a non-sentient pest insect native to Sacorria whose venomous bite was known to inflict considerable pain.

Twi'lek: a sentient species of humanoids with twin cranial tentacles called lekku (singular "lek") native to planet Ryloth.

Weequay: a sentient humanoid species with leathery tan to dark brown skin native to planet Sriluur.


	6. Part I: More Head Games

**Part I: More Head Games**

In the short ride to the promenade, the hunter learned one important think about her driver: he was as nearsighted as he was an offence to the olfactory senses. Along the way, the foolhardy Weequay employed a driving strategy of tailgating followed by swerving lane changes.

Sitting in the Weequay's back seat was the first time the seasoned gunfighter truly feared for her life since embarking on The Great Hunt. When her requests to slow down went unheeded, she tried to ignore the number of times the speeder narrowly missed colliding with a fellow motorist.

The hunter supposed his desire to settle back down in front of his holo dancer might be contributing to the Weequay's careless driving.

Upon reaching the destination — rattled but unscathed — the hunter paid the man his credits then quickly headed to the marketplace. She found Mako haggling for ration cubes; the 2V-R8 ship droid followed closely behind, pushing a _repulsorcart_ with a modest stockpile.

"You still look shaken," the slicer remarked. "Did those workers all get away safely?"

"They're fine, but the ride over was rough." The hunter shook her head in disbelief. "I've been beaten up, shot at, chased by all manner combat droids ... never knew what it was like to have my life flash before my eyes until now."

"Malfunctioning taxi droid?" Mako asked while directing a vendor to show her his finest blaster lubricating oil.

"Malfunctioning _Weequay_ , more like it," the hunter sighed.

"Should I even ask?" Mako's expression was caught in a confused state of empathy and amusement.

"Just know that I hate those filthy leathernecks," the hunter griped. "If they ain't greedy, they're stupid; if they ain't stupid, they're conniving. Qualities that don't look good on those craterous faces."

Mako smiled and bit her lip, holding back a laugh in the presence of the vendor, who was clearly displeased by her partner's comments. "Take a look at what I've got so far," she redirected the hunter.

The disgruntled _Twi'lek_ knelt down to systematically audit each supply stack. "Looks good to me," she concluded before turning to the attentive ship droid. "Toovee ... take this stuff back to the ship."

"Of course, master."

"And while I'm gone, clean the ship."

"As you wish, master; from stem to stern." The droid carted off the goods while Mako settled up with the still scowling merchant.

With their inventory restocked, the hunter motioned for her companion to follow her to the tunnel leading to Slippery Slopes cantina.

"Good work," said the hunter.

"Hey, I just followed your template, Talik," Mako blushed, shrugging sheepishly at the experienced gun woman's praise.

As the pair walked in silence along the curving inclined corridor, the hunter took the opportunity to refocus.

Let it go; get your head back in the game, the told herself.

Admittedly, if she hadn't had Mako to be accountable to, the mission likely would've run off the rails — a reality that was now beginning to dawn on the fugitive tracker. She'd never deviated from the mission before, and the potential repercussions were haunting.

What if the Eidolon had sent goons after their speeder? Mako could've been attacked and killed in any number of places and no one on the Smuggler's Room would've batted an eyelid. The rookie hunter was decent with a blaster but was nowhere near ready to handle that type of heat.

Without Mako, the _Twi'lek's_ chances of advancing in The Great Hunt would drop drastically, if not end.

The closer the hunter got to the neon-bathed watering hole, the guiltier she felt and more she resolved she became to get back on track.

. . . . . . . . . .

Despite being on his knees with a blaster between his eyes, the Eidolon maintained his arrogant, steely veneer. Even in defeat, the assassin continued to surprise the hunter; she never expected an amoral clipper to have a sense of honour. No dirty tricks, no begging. He was ready to accept death.

In another life hunting alongside such a person would've been a thrill for the gunslinging _Twi'lek_. In this life, the Eidolon was her bounty in the galaxy's greatest hunting competition — a bounty with a big, fat bonus, if turned over to the Hutt Cartel alive.

"He killed your friend." With her blaster poised, the hunter looked over her shoulder at Mako. "You decide."

Throughout the preceding encounter, Mako had held up well against the Eidolon's assassin droids and mobile fire traps. With the martial obstacle conquered, a new challenge — one of economic significance — presented itself.

The alpha _Twi'lek_ she searched the newcomer's face, hoping to see an entrepreneurial spark. The added bonus measure of the Eidolon's bounty would mean significant upgrades to the next stretch of their mortal adventure.

"He deserves to die ..." Mako began. "... but nobody deserves what the Hutts'll do to him. Give him what he wants."

The slicer's choice was one of honour and compassion. This surprised the hunter. She was sure Mako would've chosen to cause suffering to the thug who'd ordered Anuli's death. After all, the _Twi'lek_ had witnessed that Mako's mirthful disposition belied a more turbulent one when her friends were harmed. Perhaps the Eidolon's request for a merciful death had softened the slicer's heart and clouded her thinking when it came to the bottom line.

"You're still way too emotional for this job, Mako." The _Twi'lek_ sighed and turned back to her quarry. Her finger lingered briefly above the button to activate the S86k carbonite jet on her bracer.

"You can't do this! I'm the Eidolon!" The former executioner recoiled, his eyes begging for mercy.

With a sweeping gesture, the hunter covered the once-prominent underworld mogul in the immobilizing spray. Once in possession of the Hutts, he'd likely be transferred to a more handsome wall mounted slab — a warning for all those who dared defy the cartel's regime.

"Do me a favour?" Mako spat. "Next time, don't even bother asking me if you're gonna ignore what I say."

With her grievance still hanging in the air, Mako turned heel and angrily walked away, leaving the hunter to figure out how to transport the Eidolon's carbonite statue.

. . . . . . . . . .

Cartel lieutenant Solash dropped a cascade of credit chips into the hunter's open hand. "Please consider spending it in some of our wonderful casinos. Good day, hunter."

With a courteous nod, the curious little blue-skinned man bowed before assuming ownership of the carbonite figure in tow behind the all-girl hunting pair.

A subtle smile curled the hunter's lips as she slowly walked away and counted the small, flat sticks. Picking out half the sum, she looked up to locate Mako to give over her share. The discontented greenhorn was already fifty steps ahead of her mentor, speed walking her way towards their ship hangar.

"Hey! Wait up!" The exasperated _Twi'lek_ waved after Mako with a fist clenched tightly around the slicer's cut of the windfall.

Mako responded by quickening her pace to the waiting _Mantis_. The hunter huffed and rolled her eyes. She wasn't going to run after the tenderfoot. Instead, she slowed her steps and enjoyed a few moments of being unoccupied.

When the hunter stepped through the hatch, she was immediately approached by the self-satisfied ship droid. "Greetings, master. I cleaned the vessel from stem to stern in your absence. You can smell the difference."

"Fabulous," the hunter replied. "Prep the ship for launch."

"As you wish." The droid appreciatively clasped its hands together before clankily ascending the stairs to the command deck.

The usually open crew quarters were shut, leading the hunter to assume Mako was inside silently stewing. She knocked loudly and bellowed through the closed door. "Your cut's out here on the crafting table. If you wanna debrief with Crysta, be on deck in ten minutes."

The _Twi'lek_ turned and noisily dropped the credits on the table before bounding up the steps to the captain's quarters. She locked the door behind her, took out her comlink and placed a secure call to Lun.

When the flickering blue image of the _Gossam_ materialized, the hunter bowed.

"Ah, the stoic _Twi'lek_." Lun reciprocated the gesture. "How can I help you?"

"Got your fee. Just need to deposit it for transfer."

"Good. Half up front, half after delivery. I'll send you the particulars," Lun instructed. "Still on your deadline?"

"I can spare a few more hours."

"Good. Sent me the person's details. If they've transmitted a racy holo message or contracted swamp flu n the past ten _cycles_ , I'll find out. Be in touch." The wrinkled infochat disconnected the call, leaving the hunter with a nervous anticipation growing in the pit of her stomach.

It was stupid and foolhardy, and — of course — was by no means a true connection to Norr, but the hunter was willing to exchange the upgrades her bonus would afford for a glimpse into the life of her old lover. She wasn't even sure if she loved him anymore or whether her life could still accommodate the pompous _Bothan_. All she knew was after all this time she still missed him.

* * *

 **Glossary**

Bothan: a sentient humanoid species of pointy-eared furry mammalians native to planet Bothawui.

cycle: year.

Gossam: a species of sentient, short-statured reptoids with blue skin native to Castell.

Mantis (D5-Mantis): a compact patrol craft designed to meet the demands of larger capital ships.

repulsorcart: hover devices used to load and transport various items.

Twi'lek: a sentient species of humanoids with twin cranial tentacles called lekku (singular "lek") native to planet Ryloth.


	7. Part I: A Line In The Sand

**Part I: A Line In The Sand**

 _Arriving on Tatooine in search of legendary scoundrel Tyresius Lokai, the duo is attacked by Lokai's hired goons while he evades capture._

 _A still-grieving Mako grows resentful of the hunter's decisions to delay confronting hunt rival Tarro Blood, claim the Empire's bounty on Republic scientist Albea and turn in The Eidolon to a vengeful Hutt syndicate._

 _Before they can begin tracking their bounty they'll have to confront the emotional tension that's brewing between them._

. . . . . . . . . .

The glare of twin suns beat down on the two dejected-looking figures leaving the spaceport.

Passing the countless scrap metal, second-hand equipment and food vendor stands, the hunter paused a moment, allowing her eyes adjust to the drastic change in lighting.

For a dust bowl settlement on a rocky desert planet, Mos Ila was certainly a bustling hub of activity.

"Definitely have to invest in a pair of progressive-tint goggles," the hunter said, shielding her eyes. She looked over at Mako, who remained expressionless. Aside from the occasional one or two-word replies, the slicer had remained silent since their departure from Nar Shaddaa.

If her partner insisted on being needlessly offended by the Twi'lek's decision-making this was going to be a long job. Scratch that. A long hunt.

Consulting her multi-purpose wrist cuff, the hunter learned there was a cantina to the north-east; a four-minute walk. The aches from the skirmish in the shuttle hangar with their target's hired goons meant the stroll was more likely to take closer to ten.

"There's a rest stop a little ways from here," the hunter said aloud. "Keep right at the split in the road. Look out for a Siltshift Cantina sign. We'll quickly set up base camp there before following the lead on that _pfassking_ sleazebag Devaronian."

Still no acknowledgement from the incensed Mako.

The hunter sighed. She'd give the girl a little slack for the time being. Mako'd lost a lot in a short amount of time; her father-figure, her colleague, and most recently her unusual childhood friend Anuli.

Limping along the walkway the hunter redirected her frustration by fantasizing about putting a blaster bolt right between Tyresius Lokai's shifty little eyes.

Sounds of overlapping banter and the tones of a schnazzy jizz band wafted up from the Siltshift's sub-level. The place smelled like dirt, sweat, and home-brewed booze.

At the back of the lobby, the duo found the reception desk attended by a human male clerk. His eyes were fixed on the figures projecting from a portable desktop holoviewer.

As they reached the desk the man paused his device.

"Welcome to the Siltshift Cantina, your oasis from the scorching desert sands," he said apathetically, as though reading from a script. "I am your faithful concierge, Gavis Plurga. How may I help you, weary travellers?"

"Hello, Gavis," the hunter greeted the vacant-eyed man with the intentionally dishevelled hair. "We'd like to book a room. What's the rate for a two bedder?"

"Two rooms, please." Mako's voice called out from behind startled the hunter.

Gavis nervously glanced between the two women.

"Uh ... right ... it's eighty credits a night for the room with two single beds. One hundred and thirty-five for a single room; it's got a double bed."

He used the countertop keyboard to activate a small, slowly rotating holo-projection of the two room layouts.

"We'll take the two bedder furthest from the lobby," the hunter said, setting her elbow on the counter and leaning in to ensure Gavis knew exactly which one of them was holding all the credits.

"Actually, we'll take the two separate ones," Mako maintained with a straight face.

"Would you excuse us, please?" the Twi'lek addressed the attendant with a courteous smile.

"Of course," he said, looking concerned and somewhat scared. Probably the man's default expression.

Gavis stared at the pair for a moment before resuming to watch the holoviewer.

Trying her best to keep her cool in the sweltering room, the hunter gently pulled Mako aside out of Gavis's hearing.

"Listen, I don't know what's gotten into you," she said as politely as she could between clenched teeth. "But we ain't paying for two rooms 'cause you're upset about turning over a bounty to the clients who bountied him in the first place."

Mako crossed her arms and furrowed her brow, staring down the hunter. If she wasn't the size of an _orokeet_ the Great Hunt contender might've found her somewhat intimidating.

"We can afford it, then. You collected that hefty bonus, remember?" Mako contorted her face, emphasizing the word 'bonus' like it was a bad case of _Bothan Nether Rot_. She reached forward and poked an accusatory finger just below the Twi'lek's collarbone.

"Go back to the ship," the hunter sighed, shaking her head and ignoring her partner's overt attempt to rile her up. "If you change your mind and want to work — remember that thing called the Great Hunt we're on? — I'll be setting up base and leaving within ten minutes. I'll let Gavis know you might be back for a room card."

The Twi'lek walked away and returned to the reception desk to book a room with two beds.

* * *

Six minutes into room setup the hunter was almost ready to take care of the final detail: contacting the ship droid to meet her at the nearby marketplace. 2V-R8 would provide adequate combat support — the Plan B for an absent Mako. Plan C was the dormant kolto probe droid in her backpack. They could still keep on time and on budget with the adjustment, though it left little margin for error.

The hunter took as many vials of electrolyte water as her backpack would allow, then strapped it on, testing how the weight affected her movement and quickdraw speed.

When she turned towards the door Mako was leaning against the closed door's frame.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Got something on my mind," Mako replied.

"You've got three minutes," the hunter reminded her.

"Is money always going to trump doing the right thing?"

"The point of a job is to make money, Mako." The hunter's voice was stressed. "I'm not doing this for charity."

"That's not an answer."

"It is an answer. Just not the one you were hoping for."

"So, you're saying you'll suspend your morality for additional pay."

"First, you don't know me well enough to hold my morals against me," the hunter replied, waving her index finger in a single lateral warning motion. "Second, there was no 'right' or 'wrong' with The Eidolon. Either I shot him or he became Hutt palace wall art. No happy ending there, but maybe being frozen in carbonite was the more humane option."

"Are you saying the money wasn't a factor?"

"Of course it was a factor ... and it'll keep us fed and supplied for a while."

"And what about Albea?"

"Albea?" The hunter was drawing a blank.

"The Republic scientist we found locked up in Fa'athra's palace."

"Again, she was a bounty. Not a play date. You didn't object to taking down the other bounties on that list. Why get sore over her?"

"Albea wasn't like the others!" Mako objected. "She wasn't some sleazy criminal. She was a professional, a scientist. Maybe her work was saving lives!"

"Maybe her work was biological warfare, Mako," the hunter countered. "Just because someone seems 'nice' or 'unassuming' or 'professional' doesn't mean they're not a threat, honey. You're forgetting Murghir."

"And that's how you expect me to sleep at night." Mako's response was less of a question and more of a challenge.

"If you're sleeping, you're alive," the hunter said, strapping on an extra ammo belt. "Be angry at me all you want. Just don't forget Albea's payout bought you some much-needed armor and a blaster upgrade that saved your ass in the Dark Temple. You're giving me a lotta grief over this, but I'm keeping you alive."

"So, a life in exchange for some gear makes it okay?"

"This from the girl who wanted to blast the Great Hunt investigator for simply looking at you sideways, and who's been bent on jeopardizing our chances over a vendetta against Tarro Blood. If I hadn't stopped you we'd've squandered our spot for nothing — twice! Yet I'm the villain."

"Tarro killed my friend! My father! And now Anuli's dead," Mako's voice quivered. Her eyes were tearing up.

"And you're still here. Ever think what would've happened if you were in that room? Would you have been prepared then to pick up a gun, pull the trigger to defend your loved ones?"

Silence hung in the air.

"I don't know," Mako's voice escaped as barely a whisper.

"This is what being a bounty hunter is, Mako," the hunter said in a sympathetic tone "Gotta get blood on your hands sometime. I made it very clear that as soon as you stepped off the fleet shuttle your training started. You agreed."

Mako slumped against the closed door and hung her head. Looking down at the ground.

The resolute Twi'lek knew her partner was conflicted, but a hunter hunts or starves ... worse yet, dies. It was the harsh reality she'd known for too long before meeting Braden.

The clock was ticking. If this didn't wrap up in thirty seconds they'd be behind schedule.

"Stay here. You're not ready for this," the hunter said. "We were already in the thick of things, and I didn't see I should've started you out real slow."

"People are dying, girl," tears were streaming down the diminutive technophile's cheeks.

The hunter stepped forward to place a compassionate hand on Mako's shoulder to reassure her.

"Did you want to put down The Eidolon yourself? For Anuli? Is that what this is about?"

"No," Mako said, sounding defeated.

"Keep your head on straight and don't let those deaths be for nothing."

Mako exhaled deeply, then wiped her face.

"I know," she said, looking solemnly at her Twi'lek companion. "I'm sorry."

"You're a little hot-head, you know that? the hunter teased, smiling. "I like it ... but curb it on duty."

Mako grinned. Her eyes were still red from crying.

"Fine, fine."

"For now, you're gonna channel that anger into hunting this Tyresius Lokai character," the hunter instructed. "And anyone else who stands between you and him feels a little bit of that wrath. It's how we stay sharp. Got it?"

"Got it. Head, heart, hardware," Mako said, repeating the mantra to reaffirm her commitment.

"Now, what do you think of my setup?"

The hunter had repositioned the beds away from the wall against the back wall, shielding them from view of the door behind a short rectangular cabinet. Cover and distance was needed in case an uninvited visitor surprised them in the middle of the night.

The beds were pushed close together with a modest stockpile of guns and supplies systematically between them. A desk was positioned against the wall closest to the right side bed, with a portable workstation atop it. Mako's gear was propped against its side.

"Not bad," Mako smiled.

"I'm late. Stay here and feed me intel."

"No."

"Then get your ass geared," said the hunter. "Two more minutes and we head to the Varath outpost cantina to pay this Veeboo Lunx guy a visit. Press him for info."

* * *

Stepping into the lobby the hunter noticed Gavis was still completely engrossed in his holoviewing.

"What's that?" she curiously asked as she and Mako walked past his desk. "Second time I've caught you watching it."

The startled attendant slammed his hand on the controls, pausing play.

"Oh, I didn't see you there," he sputtered nervously. "I'm ... not supposed to be watching this on shift. You ... won't tell the manager, will you? Because—"

"Tell me what it is, throw in a couple bar tokens and I'll forget all about it," the hunter smiled, pouring on the charm."

"Deal," he said, opening a nearby cabinet with his passcard to withdraw a handful of tokens. He offered them to the Twi'lek and she motioned for Mako to collect the payment.

"It's called Gorgoyya's Court," Gavis explained. "It's one of the hottest holodramas on the net right now. Nine seasons of life among the cutthroat staff in a Hutt's palace. You should watch it. It's good."

"Interesting. Maybe when I retire," the hunter glibly replied. She tapped the desk, "Seeya later."

Heading back out under the blistering Tatooine suns reminded the hunter of Ryloth's Brightlands and suddenly she didn't hate it as much.

She looked up, closed her eyes and exhaled with arms outstretched. "I love this sunshine," she said to herself, bringing down her hands to slap against her hips.

The air was dry and breezeless, but there was an energy in it, a static waiting to spark. Anticipation for the hunt ahead of them prickled atop the hunter's skin.

"Can you feel that, Mako?"

"Feel what?"

"Close your eyes. Breathe in. Tell me what you sense."

"I can sense my hair slowly singeing."

The hunter chuckled. "Okay. We'll get you some climate protection hairspray after we bag Lokai."

"Appreciated."

"Don't worry, Mako," the hunter said confidently. "By the time we've won this contest you'll have kickin' hair and nexu-like battle reflexes."

Mako simply smiled.

The hunter found a reasonable spot on the embankment in front of the cantina to hop down onto the inclined pathway leading to the marketplace.

"We're behind schedule," the hunter announced. She consulting the info display on her wristband after scaling down the rock wall. "Could really do with some protective eyewear, though. The suns'll be killer."

Before she could sprint off on a frantic search of the stalls, Mako tapped her on the shoulder.

"Couldn't find any progressive tint ones, but these should do." Mako handed her mentor a pair of clunky goggles with dark lenses. "Found 'em while I was blowing off steam down here earlier."

The plucky slicer had already strapped a pair atop her own head. "Now, let's go crash this party at Outpost Varath," she said with an eager pep.

"I was starting to think I'd have to replace you with 2V-R8 for a while back there," said the hunter.

Mako scoffed. "That old rust bucket ain't got these moves," she smirked, then dashed off towards the speeder rental stand, weaving between pedestrians and vendors stalls along the way.

"Hey!" The hunter cautiously followed suit, careful not to overheat herself under the sweltering heat of the twin suns.

* * *

 **Glossary**

Bothan Nether Rot: an incurable affliction contractable by most humanoids, causing purple-green thigh skin discolouration.

orokeet: the juvenile offspring of orobirds, a non-sentient species of large, flightless avians with bright plumage.

pfassk (-ed, -er, -ing): slang, an adaptable expletive.


	8. Part I: The Royal Treatment

**Part I: The Royal Treatment**

 _Gault, the outlaw formerly known as Tyresius Lokai, settles in as the crew sets down on picturesque Alderraan in pursuit of House Girard's greatest enemy. After returning to her with the bountied body of Duke Corwin, the gunslinging Twi'lek learns her client, Baron Zacar Girard, has died at the hands of an unknown assailant._

 _Having been appointed the house's advocate, the hunter decides the Zacar's sybaritic son Raffid will succeed him — much to the chagrin of his bombastic relatives — as the choice comes with a casual marriage to the new baron and a noble title of her own._

. . . . . . . . . .

Though expertly slipping out of a sleeping man's bed was one of the hunter's much-practiced skills, her latest conquest wasn't so easily sidestepped. The slow choreography was rendered nought the instant the cagey _Twi'lek's_ full weight finally lifted from the mattress. When the heavy snoring coming from behind her stopped and didn't resume within a few seconds, she knew Raffid was awake.

With her plan to sneak away foiled, the hunter stood up and hauled up her pants without reservation. She didn't have to turn around to know the ruttish nobleman's eyes were on her. She could feel it.

"Cutting the honeymoon short, my precious?" Raffid yawned. "I thought we could at least go another round ... or four."

"Tempting, but work's waiting." The hunter secured her belt buckle then sat on the edge of the bed. Raffid slunk across the sheets, inching his way towards her. As she bent over to pull on her boots he began massaging her back.

"Always on-the-go." The rapacious nobleman's voice lost its signature arrogance and took on a soft, needy tone. "I do envy your worldly ways ... but I don't want to be done celebrating just yet, darling. Stay." Raffid nimbly kneaded his fingers along his new wife's shoulder blades while seductively trailing his lips along her neck.

"Ain't you getting ahead of yourself?" The _Twi'lek_ chuckled, shrugging him off. She momentarily looked over her shoulder at the dishevelled man who'd upended his family legacy to revel in youthful hedonism.

"A marriage of convenience doesn't have to be tediously unsatisfying." Raffid wrapped his arms around the hunter's waist and affectionately nuzzled her neck.

"I never would've taken you for a cuddler, Raffid," the hunter said, fighting to slip into her bra against her new husband's unrelenting bear hug.

"Oh, I'm sure," the hunter smirked.

"Stick around. There's so much more to learn." Raffid abruptly pulled the partially dressed _Twi'lek_ back against him, dragging her back onto the bed. Before the hunter knew what was happening, she was tangled in silky bedsheets. Her newfound spouse's legs locked around her waist.

Within moments, the newlyweds were locked in intense wrestle play spattered with clumsy kisses. Once out of breath, the baron relented and his wife leapt from the bed to freedom to locate the rest of her hastily shed clothing.

"You're an animal," Raffid said. A deviously delighted grin spread across Raffid's face.

"If you hadn't just made me a baroness, I might take offence to that." The hunter fastened her blast vest with immodest flirtation, then slung her duster over her shoulder and walked towards the door. "Seeya, lover."

"Wait!" Raffid excitedly jumped off the bed and scrambled to put on his underwear. "We've consummated the arrangement, but there's more."

"Oh, what now?" The hunter paused in the doorway, posing with hands on hips. "You high society types and your kooky ways. Should I step back ten paces for this parley?"

Raffid laughed, full and loud. "Don't worry, Your days of House Advocate are over. What I ask is not tradition ... but it is a formality. Between us." Drawing close to the hunter he gently caressed her cheek. "You've signed all the necessary marital papers, but we have yet to the terms between you and I."

"Terms, huh?" The _Twi'lek_ scratched her chin. "Name 'em."

"First: ours will be an open marriage on both ends," Raffid said, looking intently into his bride's eyes. "No ownership, no jealousy."

"Agreed."

"Second: neither party is entitled to the assets of the other — until death — unless otherwise arranged."

"Somehow, I don't think you'll have much use for my starship or blaster belt," the hunter said smugly. "But okay."

Raffid shook his head in amusement. "Finally: if either party meets 'the one,' the other will not object to a divorce."

"I'm fine with all of it ..." The hunter reached forward to stroke her groom's chest. "And I have an addition."

"Do tell."

"Whatever happens I keep my title. I like the sound of it," the hunter beamed.

"Only the Crown can revoke a title."

"Eh. Fair enough."

"Seal it with a kiss or ...?" Raffid asked with a suggestive wink.

"A kiss will do just fine." The words were barely out of the _Twi'lek's_ mouth before Raffid pounced, lustfully pushing his tongue into her mouth.

When the happy couple parted Raffid affectionately placed his arms on his wife's hips.

"I must admit the title suits your beautiful name quite well, Lady Hiran—"

"Don't." The hunter clasped her hand over Raffid's mouth. "Whenever that name's said aloud I feel like something bad's gonna happen." When Raffid nodded, she released his lips.

"So, what name should I use when I call you for holo sex?"

" _Talik_ , loverboy. That's how my crew knows me."

. . . . . . . . . .

The hunter took wide, brisk strides down the steps of the House Girard residence and Mako raced to keep up.

"Well, aren't you all limber and relaxed," the young slicer panted.

"Fun's over. Back to the hunt."

"Easy for you to say."

The duo made their way past the plaza towards the spaceport hangar, silently speedwalking past the ornately dressed people and stately buildings.

Just outside the entrance the hunter stopped and looked around.

"Gault's 'sposed be here waiting," the _Twi'lek_ grumbled. "I don't want to hang around Kaamos Territory longer'un I have to. These people creep me out."

"Didn't seem to mind 'creepy' when your baron was—"

"Yeah, yeah," the hunter smirked. She gestured dismissively to ward off any more of Mako's observations on her hypocrisy. "Point made."

"Since we're here we might as well chat." Mako gestured to a nearby bench and slowly shot a sweetly patronizing grin.

The hunter narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "I ain't gonna like this."

When the two ladies were seated, Mako casually propped her arm on the backrest and stared intently at her crewmate. "So, how was the honeymoon?"

The hunter sighed and rolled her eyes. "Satisfying enough, I guess."

"And when will you be meeting Baron Girard again?"

"It's not like that, Mako. Just an open-ended arrangement. No strings attached."

"Are you serious?" Mako screeched. "You actually agreed to that part?"

The hunter dramatically widened her eyes and raised her voice. "That part was the whole deal."

"Okay, okay," Mako whined. "I just thought you agreed because you might ... wanna ... settle down. Eventually?"

The _Twi'lek_ doubled over and her uproarious laughter cut through the crisp _Alderaanian_ air. When her fit subsided tears were streaming down her face. "You're absolutely precious." She vigorously squeezed Mako's cheeks, then dried her eyes, still chuckling."

"All right. I get it," the slicer groaned before giving in to a giggle.

"What's so funny?" Gault's familiar voice

" _Talik_ here got married."

"Hey! That is funny," Gault snickered. "Who's the unlucky guy?"

"A baron." The hunter stood and stepped towards her _Devaronian_ cohort and crossed her arms with self-satisfaction.

"A what?!" The jocular conman's eyes bulged.

"She's not kidding," said Mako. "You're looking at the first lady of House Girard."

"Hell, now I'm kinda wishing I'd stuck with you two," Gault wheezed. "But I did need a shopping spree to look less like Tyresius."

"I did notice you're looking much more dapper than when we found you on Tatooine," the hunter remarked.

Gault flexed his arms and ran his fingers along the collar of his new blast vest. "Why, my lady ..." he said in a ridiculous accent. "Would your husband take offence to such attention towards another man?"

"You're stupid, Gault." The noble alien turned and headed back to the spaceport.

"I guess that means we're back on the hunt." Mako sighed. "I hope the next planet's got a spa." She hung back a few paces with her newest crewmate while her captain forged ahead towards their ship's hangar.

"There's probably a ton here." Gault spun around and gestured back towards the entrance.

Mako stopped walking and slapped herself on the forehead. "I never thought of that! I was so worried about not getting shot that it completely slipped my mind."

"No time like the present."

" _Talik_ would lose her mind," Mako balked. "Plus, I've got people I wanna kill too! Well ... just one." The petite code breaker stared off into the distance and balled her fists.

"I'm ... gonna stay away from that one," said Gault. "How about we head back to the market. I saw a stall with all sorts of stuff you could pamper yourself with on the ship. Mud masks, aromatherapy ... the works."

Mako sighed. "I dunno."

"Take it from me: it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, kid" Gault said dryly.

Without saying a word Mako took off sprinting towards the city's retail district. Gault caught up with her outside at the taxi stand.

"Hurry up!" she called out.

"Smart thinking," he said, sliding into his seat. "Brains and beauty is a rare combination."

As the cab sped towards the city's retail district Mako pensively laid her hand on Gault's shoulder. "You know, I wasn't sure about taking you on," she said. "But I can see we're gonna get on real well."

Gault smiled and settled back with a sigh, knowing he'd exploit this newfound bond to get the eager young human to buy him the fetching durasteel-toed boots he wasn't able to afford earlier.

Glossary

Alderaan: a picturesque forest planet colonized by human settlers and governed by a monarchy.

Devaronian: a species of sentient horned humanoids with reddish-brown or (rare) greenish skin tones native to planet Devaron.

Talik (Ryl): destiny.

Twi'lek: a sentient species of humanoids with twin cranial tentacles called lekku (singular "lek") native to planet Ryloth.


	9. Part II: Flirting With Disaster

**Part II: Flirting With Disaster**

 _Unbeknownst to the new Great Hunt Champion, Mandalore has sent her on a mission to serve as_ passage _into clan membership. Returning from Dromund Kaas with the head of the beast "Akure", the hunter rejects the warrior king's offer, igniting his wrath._

 _Despite Mandalore's outrage, the small group of Great Hunt champions give the rebellious Twi'lek access to the fabled Blacklist, a private database of high-value targets._

 _With the lineup in hand, the hunter reluctantly returns to her ship to fill in Mako, the crew's connoisseur of Mandalorian culture._

. . . . . . .

The look on Mandalore's face immediately changed from ceremonial pride to outright rage. Before the transformation, the hunter fancied the battle-worn warrior as quite attractive for his age. Now, outrage cast a monstrous quality on his features.

"Get out!" Mandalore slammed an angry fist on his desk while the other pointed to the door. "Get out, all of you!"

Gault and the three other honoured hunters attending the debrief quietly filed into the outer corridor. The recalcitrant Twi'lek walked slowly towards the doorway. Reaching the threshold of Mandalore's chambers she turned and leaned against the door frame. The armoured guards standing just outside the entry stepped forward, ready to defend their leader.

Mandalore remained unmoving, hunched over his desk with fists clenched tightly against the table top. His fiery gaze fixed intently on the woman who'd, moments ago, disrespected the offer to symbolically take his place among the Great Hunt champions while he waged war for the Empire.

Unlike the fighters in his ranks who would've wept in gratitude at the proposal, the newly appointed Great Hunt champion stood in his doorway and nonchalantly examined her brightly painted fingernails.

"Nothing personal, Artus," the hunter smirked flirtatiously, owning the disrespect of discarding the warrior king's title. "I've got issues — authority issues, impulse issues, daddy issues. Maybe you can help me work them out."

In response, the towering clan leader stepped away from his desk and walked to the door. When he stopped inches from the spot where the flippant Twi'lek stood, the enmity had left his face, leaving only an emotionless expression.

"Get out ..." he whispered. "... before I show you how my predecessor became known as 'The Lesser.'"

Mandalore extended a gloved hand to gently push the hunter back a step, relocating her just outside the line separating his chamber from the outer hallway.

"Can't leave just yet, sweetheart." The sportively amorous Twi'lek stared up at the man glowering over her and seductively bit her lip. Carefully, cautiously, she reached forward and ran her hands up the clan leader's chest plate and he tensed with a grudgingly controlled impatience.

"Why not?" Mandalore asked through a clenched jaw.

"I keep what I kill." The hunter raised her eyebrow and subtly nodded towards the crate containing the remains of the beast she'd slain at the Mandalorian leader's request.

Mandalore's eyes narrowed. Without looking away from his newest champion, he addressed one of the nearby guards. "Grush, arrange to transport the beast's head to this ... bounty hunter's ship."

"Right away, Mandalore." The guard saluted before stepping away to open a comm channel.

The hunter tented her fingers and bowed graciously. "Thank you."

"Is that all?" Mandalore gestured mockingly before crossing his arms.

"Almost," the hunter smiled and began backing away. She raised her voice so Gault and the others standing at the far end of the hallway could hear. "The galaxy can be a lonely place ... and I'm really good company." She blew the sovereign clansman a kiss before turning away from him, flipping her _lekku_ behind her and sashaying away.

"We won't meet again, hunter," Mandalore bellowed after her. She didn't see the exasperated smile that crept across the face of Mandalore the Vindicated before he closed the door and secluded himself in his chamber.

Rejoining Mandalore's other guests, the hunter sidled up to Gault with a playful hip nudge. "I think we've outstayed our welcome.".

"Yeah, no thanks to you." Gault's voice went up an octave.

One of the other hunters — a clean-cut male — stepped forward. His hydraulic press armour was well worn but well kept. "Name's Bloodworthy," he said before gesturing to the Zabrak woman and assassin droid to his right. "These two miscreants are Jew'la Nightbringer and The Defenestrator."

The hunter nodded at the small group, acknowledging them as her only peers in the galaxy. The droid reciprocated, but Jew'la stood unmoved.

"Never met a woman with the guts to snub the leader of the Mandalorians straight to his face," Bloodworthy said, careful not to show too much delight.

"You just made the trip out here worth my time, newbie." When Jew'la spoke her tone was bereft of expression.

"Glad to've amused you," the hunter said.

Bloodworthy turned and walked towards the flagship hangar. His veteran colleagues followed, leaving the hunter and Gault to exchange quizzical glances. "We just wanted you to know we've sent a little welcoming present to your ship," Bloodworthy said over his shoulder.

"Oh, really?" The hunter quickened her pace to catch up with the trio. "Do tell."

. . . . . . .

The ship door opened, allowing the cacophonous bickering to spill into even the deepest recesses of the interior. Mako, who was in the crew quarters quietly searching through Bounty Brokers Association bounties, jumped at the sudden shift from soothing background noise to full-scale riot.

"I can not believe you ..." Gault squealed, flailing his arms above his head like a juvenile _monkey-lizard_. "We could've been killed!"

"Oh, come on," the hunter playfully pleaded. "Can't fault a girl for—"

"For pissing off one of the most powerful players in the galaxy?" Gault took off his prized duster and dramatically threw it on the crafting station in the corner. "Do you realize the connections you just gave up?"

"Gault, I know you think it's cute when you throw these little fits, but it's extremely unattractive."

The Devaronian scoundrel paused. "So you think I'm attractive?" he asked with a self-assured charm.

As the hunter rolled her eyes and scoffed, Mako stomped out of the cabin. "What is going on, you two?" she asked in scolding, motherly tone.

"There've been some developments." Gault faced away from the two women and moved to pick up his duster, gently folding it over his raised forearm.

"Don't you dare!" The Great Hunt champ widened her eyes and pointed authoritatively at Gault who sighed and rolled his eyes in submission.

"What kind of developments?" Mako asked suspiciously, switching her gaze between her two colleagues. "You're both acting weird ... weirder than usual."

"Good and bad developments." The hunter's tone was reassuring; she knew her little slicer was an avid fan of all things Mandalorian and the news of the happenings aboard Mandalore's flagship would have to be broken down tactfully.

"Mostly bad," Gault grumbled under his breath.

"What's that?" Mako perked up, looking at Gault.

The hunter raised her voice, smiling and nodding until the young slicer to offered her undivided attention. "The good news is ... we have our next bounty, kiddo." She handed Mako the datapad Bloodworthy had provided before departing aboard his starship.

Mako's eyes lit up as she reviews the on-screen information. "Is this the Blacklist?"

"Sure is," the hunter beamed.

"I've only ever heard rumours about the Blacklist," Mako, said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Looks like our next target's on Taris ... and I can't believe the number of zeros attached to this bounty.

Overjoyed, the two women hugged each other and gleefully jumped up and down while a stoic Gault looked on.

"Welcome to the big league," the hunter enthusiastically raved.

"That's the understatement of the century!" Mako exclaimed, pulling away to affectionately slap her girlfriend on the shoulder.

"Mandalore offered her a place in his clan and she refused!" Gault spat out. Once he said it, he swiftly left the entry area and locked himself in the medical bay.

Mako froze. She searched the Twi'lek's face with wild wonderment. "You did what?"

"Okay, okay, Mako, it's not that big a deal," the hunter said, raising her hands in surrender. "Mandalore asked, I said no. You know I'm not one for taking orders."

The unmistakable look of disappointment settled on the pint-sized tech guru's face.

"She called him an 'old war dog.'" Gault's yelling echoed in the enclosed room he'd smartly secured himself in.

The hunter chuckled nervously, maintaining eye contact with an increasingly dejected looking Mako. "Hey, hey ... the other Great Hunt champs think the guy's as much of a blowhard as I do."

"They did not say that!" Gault interjected.

"Gault, I swear to goddess if you do not shut up ... !"

"I don't understand." Mako's voice sounded fragile, bewildered. "I thought this is what we wanted." She looked up at her commander with seeking eyes.

"Oh, no, honey. I'm sorry." The Twi'lek gunslinger rested her hands comfortingly on her sidekick's slumped shoulders. "I never wanted to be a Mandalorian."

"But I do," Mako pouted. She cast her eyes down to the ground and sniffled. "I have for a long time."

The hunter grimaced. "I hate to see you like this. I don't know what to say, kiddo."

A long silence hung between the two comrades during which the now awkward Twi'lek rubbed her long-time friend's arms.

After a few minutes, Mako whimpered. "I'll be okay." She looked up and offered a frail smile.

"That's my girl," the hunter grinned. She nudged Mako's chin with her fist. "Now get up there and plot us a course to Taris."

"Okay," Mako said sheepishly. "But you owe me a five-star dinner on the next half-decent world we set down on."

"Deal."

As Mako ascended the stairs to the command deck, the hunter exhaled in relief. "Crisis averted," she said to herself.

"Did you tell her we won't be working with Mandalore again ... because you rejected then propositioned him?" Gault howled through the door.

The hunter clenched her teeth. "Mako, while you're at it, send me the interior door override codes."

Inside the med bay, she heard a faint, pitiful squeal followed by the sound of the frantic movements of surgical tables being pushed against the door.

* * *

 **Glossary**

Dromund Kaas: a humid Outer Rim jungle planet that serves as one of the Sith Empire's capital planets.

lekku: the two long cranial tentacles (singular "lek") protruding from the sides of a Twi'lek's skull.

monkey-lizard: an ape-like bipedal reptile species.

Twi'lek: a sentient species of humanoids with twin cranial tentacles called lekku (singular "lek") native to planet Ryloth.


	10. Part II: A Scoundrel's Word

**Part II: A Scoundrel's Word**

 _On top of her new status as Grand Champion of The Great Hunt, the hunter has become Baroness of House Girard and been initiated into a small club of Great Hunt Champions. Her crew is now privy to the fabled Blacklist, a private database of high-value bounties._

 _Though she's rejected Mandalore's offer to become Mandalorian, the lady rascal pursues the Mandalorian leader's greatest rival: exiled insurrectionist Jicoln Cadera._

 _On Taris, the hunter and Gault find respite in a makeshift cantina while the carbonite-frozen body of their recent capture is delivered to the main base._

. . . . . . . . . .

"I'm sure it'll just be another minute," Gault raised his voice to address the bounty hunter with an impatient eye roll before turning around to assume the position he'd held for several minutes against the bar.

It was obvious the amateur mixologist behind the counter didn't seem to appreciate serving a _Devaronian_ or a _Twi'lek_. As with most things that didn't involve easy money effortlessly falling into his pockets, Gault was visibly uncaring towards the bigotry.

It had been a tremendously long day and the expression on his face suggested he'd prefer to pass out from drinking versus exhaustion.

While waiting for the unnecessarily slow-moving bartender to pour their drinks, the bounty hunter took a closer look around the dimly lit cantina. A quick visual scan revealed the presence of Imperial officers ranging from lowly boot lickers to prominent boot wearers. For a make-do watering hole it wasn't half bad. She'd hunkered down in worse outfits than this. At least it had decent music and seemed to be well-trafficked.

The place was a prefab building that doubled as supply shed and hangar for the adjacent Crater Command outpost.

Multicoloured string lights provided atmospheric lighting in the modest space, and furniture was either mismatched or jury-rigged from empty crates or various discarded military issue items. The bar shelf that housed the bottles, for example, was a rectangular aircraft storage compartment. The discoloured burn marks and bullet hole pocks gave it character.

The cheery private who'd invited the _Twi'lek_ — and less so, her associate — into the humble establishment had mistaken the pair for Imperial-contracted Mandalorians. They hadn't corrected him.

The officer had paid for their first round of drinks in exchange for a Mando battle tale. In a tandem storytelling, the two aliens told of Jicoln Cadera and the _geroya be haran_. The memory of it was still fresh.

"Trust the resourceful _Twi'lek_ to find the one happening place on this toxic planet," Gault said, subtly flavouring the compliment with his typical sardonic tone. He set the drinks down and took his seat. "This is some kind of military moonshine. I don't even wanna know."

"Thanks," said the hunter. "So gentlemanly of you."

"Yeah, yeah. Just don't get used to it."

"Hey. A little chivalry can still go a long way."

"From what I've seen you'd sooner punch a guy in the face than curtsy when he opens a door for you."

"You may be right, but shut up," the hunter replied, eagerly holding up her cup. "What are we drinking to?"

"How about to ..." Gault punctuated his dramatic pause by pensively stroking his remaining unscathed horn. "... you ... replacing my custom-made, one-of-a-kind, three-quarter length, double-breasted _Corellian sand panther_ oil coat with _jiang_ inlaid buttons!"

By the time the sentence ended Gault's voice had climaxed into a screech.

"Oh. My. Goddess. Are you still harping on that? You're alive, ain't you? Get over it already."

"You don't know the things I had to do to afford that jacket," was Gault's acerbic plea. "I posed as an on-call physician on Ralltiir for weeks to find the perfect mark: a doddering octogenarian widow — who was very touchy, I might add. Very handsy. Immensely so.

"I convinced the wealthy old _havrap_ she'd contracted a rare terminal illness — completely made up — and got her to donate a ridiculously large sum to a bogus research facility working on the cure ... which, in reality, was one of my many, many ... many bank accounts.

"Can you even appreciate the type of coordination that takes? It was a very complex shakedown."

"So buy another one," said the nonchalant hunter.

"The guy who made it isn't alive anymore! Died in some freak armormech forging accident."

"I'm sure you could have the coat cleaned," the hunter replied, sympathetically patting her companion's shoulder.

"Honey, the laundry process to remove _rakghoul_ decay and feces from sand panther hide will never be invented. Incineration's the closest thing."

"Gault, you're an absolute wreck and somehow I love it," the hunter smirked. "How 'bout this? Let's drink to Tyresius Lokai. May that sad son of a _murglak_ rest in peace.

The _Twi'lek_ held her glass up high.

Gault reluctantly complied with a half-hearted, "Here, here."

The duo knocked cups and partook of the much-needed drink.

One of the bar's occupants approached the only non-ramshackle item in the room, a vintage jukebox, and selected a jaunty tune the hunter had never heard before.

"Is this what it's always going to be like?" the Devaronian asked after taking a long swig of the nondescript booze. "Pulse-pounding, death-defying dust ups that ruin my wardrobe."

"Pretty much," said the hunter. "The only clothing items I get attached to are my underwear. And ... well ... even then, I'll part with 'em under the right circumstances."

"Sounds like I should get a few more glasses of ... whatever this is in you. Put that to the test."

"And there ends the chivalry," the hunter groaned. "It would take about thirty bottles of this stuff to get me there with you. Two-litre bottles at that."

"I'm liking where this is going ..."

"Never gonna happen, Gault!"

"There you go hurting my feelings again," he said. "You'll never attract a husband with that attitude. I'll have you know I can be quite the charmer. More beautiful women than you have fallen for me. Classier too."

"Never ever." To reiterate her seriousness the hunter slammed her cup on their upside down crate table.

"I see what's going on here," Gault said with a devious smile.

"And what exactly would that be?"

"You forgot all about this handsome face the minute that Mandalorian kid showed up."

"Oh, goddess. Not this again." The hunter threw her arms into the air before folding them against her chest. She leaned back in her chair and rolled her eyes.

"I saw the way you flirted with him."

"Never happened."

"Have you already forgotten how he rolled up behind us in the transformer station, placed a gun in your back and how you conveniently didn't repaint the room in a trendy shade of Mandalorian entrail red?"

"Gault, that was a ploy to disarm him."

"Ohhh, no. I'm not talking about that. A gal like you allowing a man to remain completely intact and alive after pulling a gun on you. That's the most overt request to get _crinked_ I've ever witnessed."

"You're completely full of _poodoo_ , you know that?" she laughed.

"I saw you shoot a guy on Alderaan at the drop of a credit. And he just looked at you wrong."

"It was business, Gault. And do I need to add that you enjoyed the fruits of that labour?"

"All I'm saying is you might as well have mounted the boy right there. I assume you're a power top, right? You've clearly got the hips for it."

"You're awful." The hunter reached over and punched her colleague in the shoulder. "Let's get back to your earlier question."

"Fine. Change the subject just when it starts to get juicy," he said.

"Is it always like this? Yes. It's not a glamorous job, Gault."

"Says the _Twi'lek_ who became an Alderaanian baroness on the last job."

The hunter spat out her mouthful of moonshine with an irreverently loud laugh.

"An extremely rare exception," she responded after wiping her lips to compose herself. "Maybe on the next planet you'll finally earn your tiara."

"I'm seeing a pattern of family drama with these jobs," the scoundrel declared. "The messy business with House Girard, and now this hurt ego and Mandalorian honour nonsense."

"Bounty hunting basics, Gault," the hunter began. "It's all about relationships. Relationships defined by powerful emotions — be it love, hate or a mixture of both."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"Maybe I am," she replied without elaboration — a point she knew Gault noticed.

"Is that why you let old man Jicoln live?" he asked.

"I let him live for two reasons." The hunter leaned in on the table. "First, the mighty Mandalore can finish his own dirty work ..."

"Agreed. What's the point of having all that shiny armor and a warrior's code if you're not willing to get your hands dirty."

"Yes. Precisely. Second, because that kid doesn't know he's a pawn in some decades-old dick slapping contest kept alive by the leader he blindly follows."

"So, what you're saying is you feel for the guy."

"There's a saying my mother had: until the story of the hunt is told by the _manka_ , history will always glorify the hunter. That kid only knows Artus's version of things, not Jicoln's. And Artus had his entire opposition killed. I looked into it. Makes his story an easy sell."

"That's deep. Too deep for a crappy cantina on a decaying planet after a full day of monstrous things trying to eat us."

"You're right," the hunter chuckled. "Let's talk about you."

"So about these _manka_ cats learning to write holo-fiction thing ..."

"Nice, Gault."

"So, where were we?"

"You were telling me about your last serious relationship with ... I forgot her name. Must be this _refresher_ -brewed booze."

"Nice try."

"His name, I meant. It was a male, wasn't it?"

Gault reached forward and affectionately slapped the hunter on her forehead.

"Behave. Actually, I've got a proposition for you."

"Not this again," she sighed looking up at the ceiling, willing the goddess to give her strength. "For the last time, Gault, I am not putting my mouth anywhere near—"

"Not that type of proposition, you filthy nerfherder," he bellowed. "This isn't a come on. I'm talking about something better than the type of illicit sex I've talked about that's illegal on 23 planets and 129 territories."

"Shut up. Such a thing doesn't exist."

"Money," the Devaronian said matter-of-factly. "I've been thinking of ways we could use your newly claimed status as Alderaanian nobility to start a low overhead 'side business.'"

"No. Way."

"Just hear me out! There's three ways we can play this thing. First, we set up a—"

"A thousand times, no."

"You didn't let me finish!"

"I'd sooner entertain the illegal sex than use that title to profit," the hunter said. "The only ones that know about it are you, me, Mako and ... well, all of House Girard. But I don't want to talk about it. Ever."

"All right, all right. You're no fun."

"If you want to ruin your second chance by getting back right into the same old shenanigans that got Tyresius on a dozen hit lists, go right ahead. But leave me and Mako out of it."

"Understood." Gault let out a defeated sigh. "You really know how to kill an erection."

"Gault!"

"What? You really underestimate what money talk does for me."

"Then let's talk about something else."

"All right," Gault said. "What about this? See that uniformed officer over there?"

The hunter looked around the room, confused.

"They're all in uniform, genius."

Gault exhaled deeply. "The one with the general rank on his jacket. He's the pale-skinned, bald one ... with the beard ... and his legs crossed."

"What about him?"

"Looks rather dapper, don't you think? He's been staring at you this whole time."

"Frag. Let's just settle up and get outta here."

"Pfft. Fine. Prude."

The duo got up and made their way to the bar and its xenophobic bartender, navigating past a very inebriated couple making a spectacle of themselves on the dance floor.

"We'd like to settle up our tab, if you don't mind," the hunter said to the sour-looking man.

"The tab's all paid up," said the grumpy barkeep.

"Paid?" she asked, exchanging puzzled looks with Gault. "By who?"

The moonlighting private nodded his head in the direction of the dapper general.

"General Rakton," the man replied. "Says he'd like to meet the 'lady' before she leaves."

"How very generous," Gault grinned, mischievously nudging his partner in crime.

"It certainly is, sweetie." The quick-thinking hunter faked a doe-eyed glance at her male companion.

"Sweet—?"

The hunter stepped gently, but firmly on Gault's foot to halt him from speaking further.

"Thank you kindly," the hunter said, smiling graciously while sliding a generous tip on the counter. She rigidly moved a few steps away from the bar.

"What are you doing?" Gault asked, sidling up to her with a whisper. "I can be your wingman on this."

The hunter gave the scoundrel a friendly slap on the cheek.

"Not wingman. Husband," she said. "Until we leave this bar I'm Mrs. Rennow, devoted Mandalorian housewife. We entered this cantina based on a lie and we're sure as _chaos_ gonna leave it on one."

"My, my," winked Gault. "Think of the marital pleasures I'll enjoy."

"Not from here to the door you won't."

"Says who? You?" he scoffed.

The hunter nodded.

"Well, let's just see what General Rakton has to say about that," he threatened while slowly moving towards Rakton's table.

The anxious _Twi'lek_ grabbed Gault's arm and aggressively guided him to the dance floor where she amorously wrapped her arms around him and began dancing.

"Happy?" she hissed.

"It's a start."

"I will flay you before we get back to the ship," she menaced.

"Well, if that's the case I'm going to milk this right now for all it's worth."

"Gault, you don't know these Imperial types," the _Twi'lek_ pleaded behind clenched teeth. She discretely looked over to see if the general had noticed her display with the Devaronian. He had. "They are the epitome of sexual oppression. For all their talk about aliens being inferior, they sure like to let their freak flag fly with non-humans when no one else is looking. In the weirdest goddess-damned ways."

"So far, I'm only hearing pros; no cons."

"How about this?" The _Twi'lek_ batted her eyes. "Two dances. I turn a blind eye to wherever your hands wander, we never speak of this again unless under the control of torture droids ... and you let this whole General Rakton thing go."

"Sweeten the deal," Gault instructed, stroking his chin.

The hunter let out a strained, understated shriek of frustration.

"You know I'm just messing with you, right?" he said. "I'll be your wingman or your cock blocker. Just gotta tell me when and where. Maybe we should come up with elaborate hand signals."

The hunter sighed and gave Gault a wet, sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"Sometimes, Gault — just sometimes — you're actually a decent guy."

"Never say that to me ever again."

The half-drunk _Twi'lek_ began seductively trailing her hands down her devious companion's back as a tease. Gault jabbed her in the ribs.

"I ever tell you that you sorta remind me of someone?" she asked.

"He sounds like a total sex bomb," Gault quipped. "Another Devaronian?"

"No. A Bothan."

"Interesting. You'll have to tell me about him when we get back to the ship," the Devaronian said with a tinge of curiosity. "Now, let's go buy the fruitiest drink on the menu, take it to Rakton's table as a thank you and get off this wretched rock."

"Agreed."

"My name will be ... Loxis Valston, Commander of Clan Valston. And you?"

"Umm ... Supisy. Supisy Valston. Wait, do Mandalorian women take their husband's family name or keep theirs? Or do the men take the wife's name? Or do they hyphenate them together?"

"Who knows," Gault shrugged. "We'll make it up as we go along. Just keep those luscious lips puckered up for an exit kiss."

The Devaronian wrapped his arm around his wife and the two of them strutted back to the bar for another round.

* * *

 **Glossary**

chaos: hell.

Corellian sand panther: a large, non-sentient predatory feline native to Corellia, highly prized for its fur and venom by poachers and luxury goods consumers.

crink (-ed, -er, -ing): slang, an extremely vulgar expletive, diversely used literally and non-literally to describe sexual acts or to express frustration or ambivalence.

Devaronian: a species of sentient horned humanoids with reddish-brown or (rare) greenish skin tones native to planet Devaron.

geroya be haran (Mando'a) a rare Mandalorian death game challenge invoked to settle matters of honor.

havrap: a non-sentient winged creature that feeds on carrion, garbage and industrial waste.

jiang: a rare pink-coloured Corellian jewel.

manka: a large carnivorous species of non-sentient feline pack hunters native to Alderaan and Tython.

murglak: slang, an unflattering insult referencing a creature widely considered to be revolting.

poodoo (Huttese): "fodder", food eaten by banthas; used offensively to describe something foul smelling.

rakghoul: a vicious semi-sentient beast created by Sith sorcery and transmitted through a mutating plague virus by bites or deep scratches.

refresher: bathroom.

Twi'lek: a sentient species of humanoids with twin cranial tentacles called lekku (singular "lek") native to planet Ryloth.


End file.
